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Author's Prefaces, I. 


II. . 

Dedication of " Light Conceits of Lovers 

" xxxi 

Now Winter Nights Enlarge 



When to her Lute 


Sleepe, Angry Beauty . 


Never Love Unless You Can 


So Quick, so Hot 


Though You are Yoong 


Thou art not Faire 


When thou must Home. 


Shall I Come, Sweet Love 


Awake, thou Spring 




Mistris, since you so much Desire . 


Turne backe you Wanton Flyer . 


So Sweet is thy Discourse 


To his Sweet Lute Apollo sung 



The Man of Life Upright 



Where are all thy Beauties now, al 

Harts enchaining 16 

Come, chearfull Day . . . . 17 

Awake, Awake 17 

Followe thy faire Sunne . . . 18 

And would you see my Mistris' Face . 19 

Vaine Men, whose Follies ... 20 

How eas'ly wert thou Chained . . 21 
Harden now thy tyred Hart . 

O what Unhop't for Sweet Supply . 23 

Where Shee her Sacred Bowre Adornes 24 

Faine would I my Love Disclose . . 25 

Give Beauty All Her Right ... 27 

O Deare ! that I with thee might Live . 28 

Good Men shew, if You can Tell . . 29 

Whether men doe Laugh or Weepe . 30 

What then is Love but Mourning . 31 
Kinde in Unkindnesse, when will You Relent 32 

When Laura Smiles 
Rose-cheeked Laura 
Scornful Laura .... 
See where She Flies enrag'd from Me 
Your faire Lookes enflame my Desire 
The Fairie Queene Proserpina 
It fell on a Sommer's Day 
Maydes are Simple 
Think'st Thou to seduce Me then with 






Fain would I Wed .... 43 

Ev'ry Dame affects good Fame . . 44 

Thou joy' st, Fond Boy .... 45 

Silly Boy, 'tis full Moon yet . . . 46 

If Thou Longest 48 

Break now, my Heart .... 49 

The Peacefull Westerne Winde . . 50 

There is None 51 

Sweet, exclude Mee not ... 52 

Now hath Flora 53 

Her Rosie Cheekes .... 54 

Come Away 55 

What Harvest 55 

So many Loves 56 

Come, you Pretty False-ey'd Wanton . 58 

Where shall I refuge Seek ... 59 

The Sypres Curten .... 60 

Tell me, Gentle Howre of Night . . 61 

Night as well as Brightest Day . . 63 

Follow your Saint 64 

Faire, if you Expect .... 65 

Blame not my Cheeks .... 65 

When the God of Merrie Love . . 66 

Woo Her, and Win Her ... 67 

Jacke and Jone They thinke no 111 . 68 

Come Ashore, Come .... 69 

Of Neptune's Empire .... 70 

Shall I Come 71 


Oft have I sigh'd . 

Now let her Change 

Were my Hart 

So Tyr'd 

Why Presumes Thy Pride 

O Griefe, O Spite . 

O Never to be Moved . 

Good Wife . 

Fire that must Flame 

Thrice Toss these Oaken Ashes 

Be Thou then my Beauty Named 

Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire ! . 

O Sweet Delight . 

Thus I Resolve 

Come, O, Come . 

Could My Heart . 

Shall I then Hope . 

Leave Prolonging . 

Respect My Faith . 

Vaile, Love, Mine Eyes ! 

Love Me or Not . 

What Meanes this Folly 

Deare, if I with Guile . 

O Love, where are thy Shafts 

Beauty is but a Painted Hell 

Are You, what your Faire Lookes Ex- 

Since She, ev'n Shee 



I Must Complain .... 

Her Fayre Inflaming Eyes 

Turne all Thy Thoughts 

Your Faire Lookes 

And would You Faine the Reason Knowe 

Long have Mine Eies . 

If I Hope, I Pine ; If I Fearc, I Faint 

and Die 

Shall Then a Traitorous Kisse 

No Grave for Woe 

If I Urge My Kind Desires . 

Unless there were Consent 

If She Forsake Me. 

With Spotless Minds 

My Sweetest Lesbia, let us Live and 


Let Him that will be Free 

What is a Day .... 

Never Weatherbeaten Saile more willing 

Bent to Shore .... 
Tune Thy Musicke to Thy Hart . 
Loe, when Backe Mine Eye . 
Lift up to Heav'n, sad Wretch, Thy 

heavy Spright ! 
As by the Streames of Babilon 
Sing a Song of Joy ! . . . 
Seeke the Lord, and in his Waies Per 











11 + 




Lighten, heavy Hart, thy Spright . 

. 116 

Most Sweet and Pleasing are 


Wayes, God 

• "7 

Wise Men .... 

. 118 

View me, Lord, a Worke of Thine 

• "9 

De Profundis. 


Author of Light . 


Come, let us Sound 


All Lookes be Pale 


Time, that Leades 


What if a Day 


Sweet, Come Again ! 


Reprove not Love . 


The Golden Mean . 


Cruel Laura .... 


Had I Foreseen 


Though Your Strangenesse . 


Kinde are Her Answeres 

• 131 

Dance now and Sing 


Gardener's Song . 

• 133 

Gardener's Speech . 

• 134 

A Song of Three Voices 

• 135 

Advance Your Choral Motions 


Go, Happy Man . 

• 138 

Bridal Song .... 

• 139 



Tis now Dead Night 

. 141 

Fortune and Glory 




Raving Warre, 143 

To the Reader 145 

Neither Buskin now, nor Bays . . 145 

Masque at the Marriage of the Lord 

Hayes *47 

Shows and Nightly Revels . . .172 
Triumph Now 173 


Campion was all but a lost poet when Mr 
Rullen so fortunately came to his rescue six 
years ago. His lyrics, with the exception of the 
very few turned to account by modern musicians, 
or given a place in the anthologies, lay buried 
in the old music books in which they were first 
published. And yet, if they had been left to the 
famous obscurity of the British Museum, we had 
lost perhaps the one poet who comes nearest to 
fulfilling, in the genre and quality of his work, 
the lyric canon in English poetry. 

Campion did not write with a theoretic sense 
only of the correspondence between music and 
poetry. He wrote as a musician, and his songs 
were really meant to be sung. His lyre was a 
real instrument ; that is to say, it was represented 
by real instruments — the lute and the viol, some- 
times the orpharion. His lyrics are as perfect 
an instance, indeed, as we are likely to find, if 
we keep to the stricter limits of the art, besides 
having all the natural warmth of word, the 
charm and inspiration, without which the mere 
art avails nothing. 

Of the author himself we still know too little. 
That he was born midway in the sixteenth 
century ; that he seems to have gone to Cam- 
bridge, with the idea of studying for the Bar, 
and was presently admitted a member of Gray's 


Inn,— in 1586? that he gave up the law for 
medicine, took his M.D., and became a prac- 
tising physician ; and that he contrived to 
practise, too, as a musician and poet through- 
out his life : there is in outline all we know. 
He died in February 1619-20. On the first of 
March in that year, the entry, "Thomas 
Campion, Doctor of Physicke, was buried," is 
made in the register of St Dunstan's-in-the- 
West, Fleet Street. 

His first book, which serves to explain much 
about him that would else be left dark, and 
which may explain something too of the Latin 
ring in his English verse, was his Poema of 
1595, a book of Latin epigrams. No copy of 
this edition has been discovered ; but the Epi- 
grams were issued in a later and much amplified 
collection in the year 1619, the year of his death, 
so that his first book was in a sense his last. 

From it we learn more of the man, his personal 
effect, temper and way of life, friends, enemies, 
quarrels, and the rest, than we should else have 
ever known. Throughout his career, with its 
vicissitudes of law and medicine, it is clear he 
moved in the leisured and courtly circles that 
his particular genius might seem to demand. 
His troubles seem to have been slight ; enough 
for maturing the man, not enough for embitter- 
ing him. His malice, peeping slyly out in his 
quips at Barnabe Barnes and Nicholas Breton, 
or in his references to more than one lady of his 
acquaintance, works in an idle vein, showing that 
his cause of complaint against men and things 
was at no time very serious. He strikes one as 


a quite excellent example of that type of cul- 
tured physician which we have all known; whose 
art of healing only serves as an agreeable basis 
for the liberal arts of life at large. 

One imagines him moving about gaily and 
pleasantly among his friends and fashionable 
patients, a privileged guest, carrying his music 
with him ; often when he came to prescribe, 
remaining to try over some new air, or recit- 
some new epigram : 

" I to whose trust and care you durst commit 
Your pined health, when art despaired of it, 

Should I, for all your ancient love to me, 

Endowed with weighty favours, silent be ? 

Your merits and my gratitude forbid 

That either should in Lethean gulf lie hid ; 

But how shall I this work of fame express 1 

How can I better, after pensiveness, 

Than with light strains of Music, made to move 

Sweetly with the wide spreading plumes of Love?" 

These lines were addressed to one of his 
patients, — " my honourable friend, Sir Thomas 
Mounson, Knight and Baronet ; " and the 
coupling in them of the arts of medicine and 
music is characteristic. Sir Thomas Mounson, 
or Monson, had been imprisoned in the Tower 
prior to this, in 1615-16, on suspicion of being 
concerned in the murder of Sir Thomas Over- 
bury. Campion, who had already been of 
service in conveying money to him, and was 
examined as a friendly witness before his im- 
prisonment, was still allowed to visit him in the 
Tower, as his medical attendant. The lines 


quoted, acclaiming his release, appeared at the 
opening of the Third Book of Airs, published 
in 1617 or thereabouts. 

This is comparatively far on in his career. 
The music-book in which he makes what is 
practically his first appearance as a lyric poet, 
and in which he had Philip Rosseter as a 
musical collaborator and editor, appeared 
about 1601. Campion, then, may be said to 
emerge with the seventeenth century ; and the 
opening of the seventeenth century comprised 
some of the goldenest years in all English 
poetry, — the bridge between Elizabethan and 
Jacobean times. 

In 1601 Spenser had been dead some three 
years ; Sidney some fifteen. Greene, Peele, 
Marlowe, were gone ; Lyly, Lodge, Sir 
Walter Raleigh, Chapman, Drayton, were 
alive ; and they lead us on to Shakespeare and 
Ben Jonson. To Ben Jonson, who was at 
once the last of the Elizabethans and the first 
of the Jacobeans, succeed the familiar names 
of the seventeenth century. Campion, like 
Ben Jonson, though in his different way, is a 
bridge between the two periods. 

This position of his in the chain of English 
poetry, as one of the few silver links which are 
purely lyrical, is not of a fanciful importance. 
He came after the great outburst of Eliza- 
bethan energy, and before the classic influence 
had taught our natural English note too arti- 
ficial a grace. Nature and art are as happily 
balanced in Campion as in Herrick ; and if he 
is less impulsive and less inevitable in airy 


clearness of lyric style, he has his other 
qualities, as we may see when he achieves an 
imaginative flight like, 

" When thou must home to shades of underground, 
And there arriv'd, a newe admired guest, 
The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 
White lope, blith Hellen, and the rest, 
To heare the stories of thy finisht love 
From that smoothe toong whose musicke hell can 
move ; " 

or a cadence, haunting and mysterious : 

" Where are all thy beauties now, all harts enchain- 
Whither are thy flatt'rers gone with all their fayning ? 
All fled, and thou alone still here remayning! " 

Again, Campion came, as Mr Gosse re- 
minded the present editor, before the clearer 
waters of English poetry were disturbed by 
the masterful irruption of Donne. Donne was 
a Welshman on his father's side, and he had 
something of the eccentric fire that has so often 
made the men of that mixed blood dynamic 
and unaccountable, or even lawless, like the 
inimitable Jack Mytton in another fashion 
altogether. At any rate, Donne made so 
great an effect, that one is almost tempted 
to divide the seventeenth century men into 
pre-Donne and post-Donne poets. Campion, 
fortunately, was a Pre-Donnean ; though what 
with his musical sentiment, and his feeling for 
a Latin art of verse, he would probably in any 
case have held his own, and preserved his 
individual note unspoilt. 
3 b xvii 


His note has been likened now to Fletcher's, 
now to Carew's ; and he does, for a moment, 
remind one occasionally of the lyrics of his con- 
temporaries. But rarely though his writing is 
mannered, his note is as unmistakable as 
Herrick's own, at its best. Campion's worst, 
like other poets', we may agree to neglect; it 
is a very small part of the whole. 

No doubt something both of the rarer effect 
in certain of his poems and of the failure of 
others, is to be laid to his approaching the art 
of verse as a musician, rather than as a pure 
and simple poet. 

Take as an instance of a lyric which is ex- 
quisitely musical, full of turns which could only 
have occurred to a musician, full of a lurking 
melody not likely to have been invented by a 
mere prosodist, this song of three voices from 
the Masque given by Lord Knowles to Queen 
Anne : — 

" Night as well as brightest day hath her delight, 
Let us then with mirth and music deck the night. 
Never did glad day such store 

Of joy to night bequeath : 
Her stars then adore, 

Both in Heav'n, and here beneath." 

One hears the lute and viol accompaniment 
plainly in this. The long lines and the short 
call up to the ear, with charming tunefulness, 
the effect of certain of his songs as performed 
delightfully at some of Mr Dolmetsch's concerts 
of old English music. 

Or take the seventeenth song in the third 
Book of Airs : — 


" Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee, 
When the ev'ning beames are set ? 
Shall I not excluded be V 

Will you finde no fain^d lett? 
Let me not, for pitty, more, 
Tell the long houres at your dore." 

The last line, as set to music in the original 
gets an added effect by dwelling musically on 
the first clause — 

" Let me not, for pitty, more, 
Tell the long long houres, tel the long houres, at 
your dore ! " 



more, Tell the long, long houres, tel the 


long houres at your dore. 

Take another, one of the songs that proved 
most effective under Mr Dolmetsch's direction 
— the song of Amarillis : — 

" I care not for these Ladies, 
That must be woode and praide 
Give me kind Amarillis, 
The wanton countrey maide. 
Nature art disdaineth, 
Here beautie is her owne. 

Her when we court ana kisse, 

She cries, Forsooth, let go : 

But when we come where comfort is, 

She never will say No.' ' 


This is the simple perfection of song-writing. 
The rhythm, as poetry, is no more charming 
than the cadence, as music. The words are 
as lyrical, the movement as impulsive, as any- 
thing in Burns or in Shakespeare. It is finely 
Elizabethan on the face of it, and it is as clearly 
a song to be sung : a masterpiece-in-little, 
then, in its own particular kind. 

As an instance of what writing for music, 
without a sufficiently present feeling for poetry, 
may lead to, take this verse from another 
song — 

" Though far from joy, my sorrows are as far, 
And I both between ; 
Not too low, nor yet too high 
Above my reach would I be seen. 
Happy is he that so is placed, 
Not to be envied nor to be disdained or disgraced." 

It is fair to admit that these words were written 
for Rosseter's setting, not for Campion's own ; 
and evidently he wrote in this perfunctorily 

We turn now for a few moments to glean 
what »ve can of Campion's rather paradoxical 
attitude toward his art of poetry. For it is 
one of the ironies of literature, that the writer 
who has written some of the most purely artistic 
rhymed lyrics in the language, — the most 
artistic, that is, in the exact sense of lyrical, — 
should have set out with so striking a manifesto 
against rhyme. His " Observations in the Art 
of English Poesie" appeared in 1602, when he 
had already written some of his loveliest songs. 


" I am not ignorant," he says, at the opening 
of his second chapter, ' ' that whosoever shall 
by way of reprehension examine the imperfec- 
tions of Rime, must encounter with many 
glorious enemies, and those very expert, and 
ready at their weapon, that can if neede be 
extempore (as they say) rime a man to death." 

Campion the pamphleteer has for enemy 
Campion the rhymer ; his own songs are the 
best reply to his own indictment. Especially 
may one quote him against himself, where he 
says, and truly : 

" The eare is a rationall sence, and a chiefe 
judge of proportion, but in our kind of riming 
what proportion is there kept where there re- 
maines such a confus'd inequalitie of sillables? " 

But the metrical confusion of which he speaks 
is as far from the true rhymer as from the 
classic poets who never used rhyme. More 
finely ordered lyric metres, indeed, we need not 
seek than Campion's own. And in spite of 
some charming numbers, such as "Rose 
Cheek'd Laura," and his other trochaic lyric, 
" Follow, Follow ! " in the same lady's honour, 
which he produces in this pamphlet to prove 
his case ; it must be admitted that Campion is 
a better poet rhyming, than unrhyming. 

However, after allowing for all that is in- 
consistent and without argument in his attack, 
enough remains to make it a singularly ap- 
petising dish in the symposium of the poets in 
celebration of their own art. It leaves one as 
devoted as ever to ' ' the childish titillation of 
riming," as he calls it ; especially if read, as it 


ought to be, in a sequence with Daniel's admir- 
able reply. Moreover it has many practical 
points to make as to the technique of verse, 
which are well worth reading, as springing 
from so good a verse-writer. 

A companion tract in music, though construc- 
tive and not destructive in its original scheme, 
was Campion's ' ' New Way of Making Fowre 
Parts in Counter-point, by a most familiar and 
infallible Rule." Mr Bullen did not reprint 
it in his volume ; but it is an interesting pro- 
duction, and, at moments, to others than 
musicians. One comes on some memorable 
sentences ; as for example, ' ' there is no tune 
that can have any grace or sweetnesse, un- 
lesse it be bounded within a proper key." 
This recalls again that feeling for the pro- 
priety of word and note, which Campion 
showed in his practice in both arts. 

Some of Campion's prettiest songs are to 
be found in his masques, which are exquisite 
in their kind, as full of picturesque effects as 
of lyrical moments. Indeed, the defect in 
some of them may have been thought by 
those who were not musically inclined, that 
Campion too often interrupted the spectacle in 
his eagerness to gain yet another lyric oppor- 
tunity. The first and best of these masques, 
that performed at the marriage of Lord Hayes 
(Sir James Hay), we have appended to the 
present volume. This was certainly much 
the most lyrical of the four that Campion 
wrote; he seemed to learn, by his practice in 
masque-writing, to become less lyrical and to 


leave more to the skilled scenic art of his 
collaborators as he went on. The " Lord 
Hayes " masque was performed at Whitehall 
on Twelfth night, 1606-7. We do not come 
upon another masque of Campion's until six 
years later, in 1613, when he wrote three. The 
first was the Lord's Masque, "presented in 
the Banqueting House on the marriage night 
of the High and Mighty Count Palatine, and 
the royally descended the Lady Elizabeth." 
This, though it was not much praised, by 
some of its spectators at any rate, is full of 
taking, and often very splendid, spectacle; 
which we owe, like the spectacular effect in 
the best of Ben Jonson's masques, to the 
genius of Inigo Jones. 

Mr Bullen, commenting upon the adverse 
criticism in one of Chamberlain's letters, which 
speaks of devices, " long and tedious," "more 
like a play than a masque," says — 

" It is to be noticed that Chamberlain himself 
was not present ; he wrote merely from hear- 
say. The star dance arranged by Inigo Jones 
was surely most effective ; and the hearers 
must have been indeed insensate if they were 
not charmed by the beautiful song, 'Advance 
your choral motions now.' " 

Another of the masques of that year was 
produced by Lord Knowles (Sir Wm, Knollys), 
at Cawsam (Caversham) House, Reading, in 
honour of ' ' our most gracious Queene, Queene 
Anne, in her Progresse toward the Bathe," on 
the 27th and 28th April 1613. The third was 
that produced for the marriage of the Earl of 


Somerset and ' ' the infamous Lady Fiances 
Howard, the divorced Countess of Essex," on 
the 26th December 1613. 

In the same year Campion again showed 
his close connection with the Court by the 
little volume, "Songs of Mourning," in memory 
of the untimely death of Prince Henry, in 
November 1612. The songs, in which Campion 
was not altogether inspired, were set to music 
by Coprario (alias John Cooper). But else- 
where, in his "Divine and Moral Songs," 
Campion showed how well he could turn his 
lyric note to a grave measure. Indeed, he 
passed with ease and grace from such im- 
pulsive ditties as Amarillis to such solemn 
songs as "Lift up to Heav'n, sad wretch, 
thy Heavy spright ! " or those two touching 
stanzas, beginning : 

"Never weather beaten Saile more willing bent to 
Never tyred Pilgrim's limbs affected slumber 

One finds, after reading Campion with any- 
thing like sympathy, that he leaves the memory 
wonderfully replenished with such things, — 
things far too tender, witty, or true ; too rare, 
rich, and fine, to be ever forgotten. In purely 
lyric poetry, he is, perhaps, the most remark- 
able discovery of our time amid the dust of 
old libraries, tireless as our zeal of research 
has been. He is, in brief, a master in his 
own field ; and that field as widely, or as 


narrowly, determined in its lyric bounds as 
you care to make it. 

The present edition of Campion, — the first 
in which he has made full public entrance 
before the wider audience, — owes, let me add, 
the fullest acknowledgment to the previous 
labours of Mr A. H. Bullen ; to whose courtesy 
in waiving his claim upon a poet that he had 
almost made his own, the reader, as well as 
the editor, of the volume, must remain thrice 
indebted. For the most part Campion's original 
text is, however, here made use of; in the con- 
trary case, as in the Masque at the end, Mr 
Bullen's initials will be found attached. 

E. R. 

November, 1895. 

Campion's Preface 
To the Reader. Rosseter's " Book 
Ayres " (1601). 

W hat Epigrams are in Poetrie, the same 
are Ayres in musicke : then in their chiefe per- 
fection when they are short and well seasoned. 
But to clogg a light song with a long Praelu- 
dium, is to corrupt the nature of it. Manie 
rests in Musicke were invented, either for 
necessitie of the fuge, or granted as a har- 
monicall licence in songs of many parts : but 
in Ayres I find no use they have, unlesse it 
be to make a vulgar and triviall modulation 
seeme to the ignorant, strange ; and to the 
judiciall, tedious. A naked Ayre without 
guide, or prop, or colour but his owne, is 
easily censured of everie ear ; and requires 
so much the more invention to make it please. 
And as Martiall speakes in defence of his 
short Epigrams ; so may I say in th' apologie 
of Ayres : that where there is a full volume, 
there can be no imputation of shortnes. The 
Lyricke Poets among the Greekes and Latines 
were first inventers of Ayres, tying themselves 
strictly to the number and value of their sill- 
ables : of which sort, you shall find here onely 
one song in Saphicke verse ; the rest are after 
the fascion of the time, eare-pleasing rimes 
without Arte. The subject of them is, for 

Prefaces and Dedications. 

the most part amorous : and why not amor- 
ous songs, as well as amorous attires? Or 
why not new airs, as well as new fascions? 
For the Note and Tableture, if they satisfie 
the most, we have our desire ; let expert 
masters please themselves with better. And 
if anie light error hath escaped us, the skil- 
full may easily correct it, the unskilfull will 
hardly perceive it. But there are some who, 
to appeare the more deepe and singular in 
their judgement, will admit no Musicke but 
that which is long, intricate, bated with fuge, 
chaind with sincopation, and where the nature 
of everie word is precisely exprest in the Note : 
like the old exploided action in Comedies, when 
if they did pronounce Memeni, they would 
point to the hinder part of their heads ; if 
Video, put their finger in their eye. But such 
childish observing of words is altogether ridicu- 
lous ; and we ought to maintaine, as well in 
notes as in action, a manly cariage ; gracing 
no word, but that which is eminent and 
emphaticall. Nevertheles, as in Poesie we 
give the preheminence to the Heroicall Poem ; 
so in musicke, we yield the chiefe place to 
the grave and well invented Motet : but not 
to every harsh and dull confused Fantasie, 
where, in multitude of points, the Harmonie 
is quite drowned. Ayres have both their Art 
and pleasure : and I will conclude of them, 
as the poet did in his censure of Catullus the 
Lyricke, and Vergil the Heroicke writer : 
Tantum magna suo debet Verona Catullo, 
Quantum parva suo Mantua Vcrgilio. 


To the Reader. £*££?££ 

Uut of many Songs which, partly at the 
equest of friends, partly for my owne recrea- 
tion, were by mee long since composed, I 
have now enfranchised a few ; sending them 
forth divided, according to the different sub- 
ject into severall Bookes. The first are grave 
and pious ; the second, amorous and light. 
For hee that in publishing any worke hath 
a desire to content all palates, must cater for 
them accordingly. 

Non omnibus unum est 
Quod placet, hie Spinas colligit, ille Rosas. 

These Ayres were for the most part framed 
at first for one voyce with the Lute or Violl : 
but upon occasion they have since beene filled 
with more parts, which whoso please may 
use, who like not may leave. Yet doe wee 
daily observe that when any shall sing a Treble 
to an instrument, the standers by will be offring 
at an inward part out of their owne nature ; and, 
true or false, out it must, though to the per- 
verting of the whole harmonie. Also, if wee 
consider well, the Treble tunes (which are with 
us, commonly called Ayres) are but Tenors 
mounted eight Notes higher ; and therefore 
an inward part must needes well become them, 
such as may take up the whole distance of the 

Prefaces and Dedications. 

Diapason, and fill up the gaping betweene the 
two extreeme parts : whereby though they are 
not three parts in perfection, yet they yeeld a 
sweetnesse and content both to the eare and 
minde ; which is the ayme and perfection of 
Musicke. Short Ayres, if they be skilfully 
framed, and naturally exprest are like quicke 
and good Epigrames in Poesie ; many of them 
shewing as much artifice, and breeding as great 
difficultie as a larger Poeme. Non omnia 
posstimus omnes, said the Romane Epicke 
Poet. But some there are who admit onely 
French or Italian Ayres ; as if every Country 
had not his proper Ayre, which the people 
thereof naturally usurpe in their Musicke. 
Others taste nothing that comes forth in 
print ; as if Catullus or Martial's Epigrammes 
were the worse for being published. 

In these English Ayres, I have chiefely aymed 
to couple my Words and Notes lovingly to- 
gether ; which will be much for him to doe 
that hath not power over both. The light of 
this, will best appeare to him who hath pays'd 
our Monasyllables and Syllables combined : 
both which are so loaded with Consonants as 
that they will hardly keepe company with swift 
Notes, or give the Vowell convenient liberty. 

To conclude; mine own opinion of these 
Songs I deliver thus : 

Omnia nee nostris bona sunt, sed nee mala 
libris ; 
Si placet hac cantes, hac quoq'. lege legas. 



Dedication Of " To the Right Noble 

i, y • 1* r* •*. and Vertuous Henry, 

Light Conceits Lord cliffordi sonnc and 

Of LoverS " heyre to the Right 

Honourable Francis, 

(1 01 3 ?). Earle of Cumberland.'' 

Ouch dayes as wear the badge of holy red 
Are for devotion markt and sage delight; 

The vulgar Low-dayes, undistinguished, 
Are left for labour, games, and sportfull 

This sev'rall and- so differing use of Time, 
Within th' enclosure of one weeke wee finde ; 

Which I resemble in my Notes and Rhyme, 
Expressing both in their peculiar kinde. 

Pure Hymnes, such as the seaventh day loves, 

doe leade ; 
Grave age did justly chalenge those of 

mee : 
These weekeday workes, in order that suc- 

Your youth best fits ; and yours, yong Lord, 

they be, 
As hee is, who to them their beeing gave : 
If th" one, the other you of force must have. 

— ".WV< — 

"The Apothecaries have Bookes of Gold, 
whose leaves, being opened, are so light as 
that they are subject to be shaken with the 
least breath ; yet rightly handled, they serve 
both for ornament and use : such are light 
Ayres." Campion. 

NOW Winter Third Booke of Ayres. 

ivy 1 , r> i (1617?). '•Hunny" (1. 

Nights Enlarge. Io)> honey . 

i\ ow winter nights enlarge 

The number of their houres ; 

And clouds their stormes discharge 

Upon the ayrie towres 

Let now the chimneys blaze 

And cups o'erflow with wine, 

Let vvell-tun'd words amaze 

With harmonie divine ! 

Now yellow waxen lights 

Shall waite on hunny love 

While youthfull Revels, Masks, ■ and Courtly 

Sleepe's leaden spels remove. 

This time doth well dispence 

With lovers' long discourse ; 
Much speech hath some defence, 

Though beauty no remorse. 
All doe not all things well ; 

Some measures comely tread, 
Some knotted Ridles tell, 

Some Poems smoothly read. 
The Summer hath his joyes, 

And Winter his delights ; 
Though Love and all his pleasures are but 

They shorten tedious nights, 
R A 1 

Lyric Poems. 

Cherry Ripe. ( *£g Booke of Ayres 

1 here is a Garden in her face, 
Where Roses and white Lillies grow ; 
A heav'nly paradice is that place, 
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow. 
There Cherries grow, which none may buy 
Till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. 

Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose 
Of Orient Pearle a double row ; 
Which when her lovely laughter showes, 
They look like Rose-buds fill'd with snow. 
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy 
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry. 

Her Eyes like Angels watch them still ; 
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand, 
Threatning with piercing frownes to kill 
All that attempt, with eye or hand, 
Those sacred Cherries to come nigh, 
Till Cherry ripe themselves do cry. 

— WVVv— 
When tO her Rosseter's Ayres. 

Lute. Part *• ( ,6ol >- 

W hen to her lute Corinna sings, 
Her voice revives the leaden stringes, 
And doth in highest noates appeare, 
As any challeng'd eccho cleere ; 


But when she doth of mourning speake, 
Ev'n with her sighes the strings do breake. 

And as her lute doth live or die, 

Led by her passion, so must I ; 

For when of pleasure, she doth sing, 

My thoughts enjoy a sodaine spring ; 

But if she doth of sorrow speake, 

Ev'n from my heart the strings do breake. 

— WWVv- 
Sleepe, Angry Th i r d Book of Ayres 

Beauty. < l6l 7 ? >- 

Oleepe, angry beauty, sleepe, and feare not 

For who a sleeping Lyon dares provoke ? 
It shall suffice me here to sit and see 

Those lips shut up, that never kindely spoke. 
What sight can more content a lover's minde 
Then beauty seeming harmlesse, if not kinde ? 

My words have charm'd her, for secure shee 
sleepes ; 
Though guilty much of wrong done to my 
love ; 
And in her slumber, see, shee, close-ey'd.weepes ! 
Dreames often more than waking passions 
Pleade, Sleepe, my cause, and make her soft 

like thee, 
That shee in peace may wake and pitty mee. 

Lyric Poems. 

Never Love Third Booke of Ayres 

Unless You Can. (l6l ? ?) - 

jN ever love unlesse you can 
Beare with all the faults of man : 
Men sometimes will jealous bee, 
Though but little cause they see ; 
And hang the head, as discontent, 
And speake what straight they will 

Men that but one saint adore, 
Make a show of love to more : 
Beauty must be scorn'd in none, 
Though but truly serv'd in one : 
For what is courtship, but disguise? 
True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 

Men when their affaires require, 
Must a while themselves retire : 
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawke, 
And not ever sit and talke. 
If these, and such like you can beare, 
Then like, and love, and never feare ! 

— -/VVVv~- 


SO QUICKC, SO Third Booke of Ayres 

Hot. (l6l ? ?) - 

Oo quicke, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit, 
So rude, so tedious grovvne, in urging mee, 

That fain I would, with losse, make thy tongue 
And yeeld some little grace to quiet thee : 

An houre with thee I care not to converse, 

For I would not be counted too perverse. 

But roofes too hot would prove for men all fire ; 

And hills too high for my unused pace ; 
The grove is charg'd with thornes and the bold 
bryar ; 
Grey snakes the meadowes shroude in every 
place : 
A yellow frog, alas, will fright me so, 
As I should start and tremble as I goe. 

Since then I can on earth no fit roome finde, 
In heaven I am resolv'd with you to meete : 

Till then, for Hope's sweet sake, rest your tir'd 
And not so much as see mee in the streete : 

A heavenly meeting one day wee shall have, 

But never, as you dreame, in bed, or grave. 


Though you 
are Yoong. 

Rosseter's Booke of 
Ayres. Part I. (1601). 

1 hough you are yoong, and I am olde, 
Though your vaines hot, and my bloud colde, 
Though youth is moist, and age is drie ; 
Yet embers live, when flames doe die. 

The tender graft is easely broke, 
But who shall shake the sturdie Oke ? 
You are more fresh and fair then I ; 
Yet stubs doe live, when flowers doe die. 

Thou, that thy youth doest vainely boast, 
Know buds are soonest nipt with frost : 
Thinke that thy fortune still doth crie, 
Thou foole, to-morrow thou must die ! 


ThoU art not Rosseter's Booke o t 

Faire. Ayres. Part I. (t6oi). 

1 hou art not faire, for all thy red and white, 
For all those rosie ornaments in thee ; 
Thou art not sweet, though made of meet- 
Nor faire nor sweet, unless thou pitie me. 
I will not sooth thy fancies : thou shalt prove 
That beauty is no beautie without love. 

Yet love not me, nor seeke thou to allure 

My thoughts with beautie, were it more devine : 

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 

I'le not be wrapt up in those armes of thine : 

Now show it, if thou be a woman right, — 

Embrace, and kisse, and love me, in despight ! 

— «aA/V^- 

When thoU Rosseter's Booke of 

must Home. A y res - Part l - (l6ol) - 

W hen thou must home to shades of under- 
And there arriv'd, a newe admired guest, 
The beauteous spirits do ingirt thee round, 
White lope, blith Hellen, and the rest, 
To heare the stories of thy finisht love, 
From that smoothe toong whose musicke hell 
can move ; 


Lyric Poems. 

Then wilt thou speake of banqueting delights, 
Of masks and revels which sweete youth did 

Of Turnies and great challenges of knights, 
And all these triumphes for thy beauties sake : 
When thou hast told these honours done to 

Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murther me. 

— a/ww— 

Shall I Come, Third Booke of Ayres 
Sweet Love. 06 I7 ?). 

Ohall I come, sweet love, to thee, 
When the evening beames are set ? 

Shall I not excluded be ? 

Will you finde no fained lett ? 

Let me not, for pitty, more, 

Tell the long houres at your dore ! 

Who can tell what theefe or foe, 

In the covert of the night, 
For his prey will worke my woe, 

Or through wicked foul despite ? 
So may I dye unredrest, 
Ere my long love be possest. 

But to let such dangers passe, 
Which a lover's thoughts disdaine, 

'Tis enough in such a place 
To attend love's joyes in vaine. 

Doe not mocke me in thy bed, 

While these cold nights freeze me dead. 


Awake, thoU Third LSooke of Ayres 

Spring. (l6l ? ? >- 

Awake, thou spring of speaking grace, 

mute rest becomes not thee ! 
The fayrest women, while they sleepe, and 
pictures, equall bee. 
O come and dwell in love's discourses, 

Old renuing, new creating. 
The words which thy rich tongue discourses, 
Are not of the common rating ! 

Thy voyce is as an Eccho cleare, which Musickc 

doth beget, 
Thy speech is as an Oracle, which none can 
counterfeit : 
For thou alone, without offending, 

Hast obtained power of enchanting ; 
And I could heare thee without ending, 
Other comfort never wanting. 

Some little reason brutish lives with humane 

glory share ; 
But language is our proper grace, from which 
they sever' d are. 
As brutes in reason man surpasses, 
Men in speech excell each other : 
If speech be then the best of graces, 
Doe it not in slumber smother ! 

Lyric Poems. 

Amarillis. (l6oi) 

Rosseter. Part I. 


care not for these Ladies, 

That must be woode and praide : 

Give me kind Amarillis, 

The wanton countrey maide. 

Nature art disdaineth, 

Her beautie is her owne. 

Her when we court and kisse, 
She cries, Forsooth, let go : 
But when we come where comfort is, 
She never will say No. 

If I love Amarillis, 
She gives me fruit and flowers : - 
But if we love these Ladies, 
We must give golden showers. 
Give them gold that sell love, 
Give me the Nut-browne lasse, 
Who, when we court and kisse, 
She cries, Forsooth, let go : 
But when we come where comfort is, 
She never will say No. 

These Ladies must have pillowes, 
And beds by strangers wrought ; 
Give me a Bower of willows, 
Of mosse and leaves unbought, 
And fresh Amarillis, 
With milk and honie fed ; 

Who, when we court and kisse, 

She cries Forsooth, let go : 

But when we come where comfort is, 

She never will say No ! 


Mistris, since 

you so much (l6 o I °! seter ' ?art L 


lVlisTRis, since you so much desire 
To know the place of Cupid's fire, 
In your faire shrine that flame doth rest, 
Yet never harbourd in your brest. 
It bides not in your lips so sweete, 
Nor where the rose and lillies meete ; 
But a little higher, but a little higher 
There, there, O there lies Cupid's fire. 

Even in those starrie pearcing eyes, 
There Cupid's sacred fire lyes. 
Those eyes I strive not to enjoy, 
For they have power to destroy ; 
Nor woe I for a smile or kisse, 
So meanely triumphs not my blisse ; 
But a little higher, but a little higher, 
I climbe to crowne my chaste desire. 

— a/Wv*— 

Turne backe 


you Wanton 


1 urne backe, you wanton flier 
And answere my desire, 
With mutuall greeting : 
Yet bende a little neerer, 

Lyric Poems. 

True beauty still shines cleerer, 

In closer meeting. 

Harts with harts delighted, 

Should strive to be united ; 

Either other's armes with amies enchayning : 

Harts with a thought, 

Rosie lips with a kisse still entertaining. 

What harvest halfe so sweete is 

As still to reape the kisses 

Growne ripe in sowing ? 

And straight to be receiver 

Of that which thou art giver, 

Rich in bestowing? 

There's no strickt observing 

Of times, or seasons changing ; 

There is ever one fresh spring abiding. 

Then what wc sow with our lips, 

Let us reape, love's gaines deviding ! 

— JN/Wvv — 

So Sweet 1S thy Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Discourse. (l6l7?) - 

Oo sweet is thy discourse to me, 

And so delightfull is thy sight, 

As I taste nothing right but thee. 

O why invented Nature light? 

Was it alone for beauties sake, 

That her grac't words might better take? 


No more can I old joyes recall : 
They now to me become unknowne, 
Not seeming to have beene at all. 
Alas ! how soone is this love growne 
To such a spreading height in me 
As with it all must shadowed be ! 

TohlS Sweet Lute Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Apollo sung. (l6l ? ?) - 

1 o his sweet lute Apollo sung the motions of 

the Spheares ; 
The wondrous order of the Stars, whose course 
divides the yeares ; 
And all the Mysteries above : 
But none of this could Midas move, 
Which purchast him his Asses eares. 

Then Pan with his rude pipe began the Coun- 
try-wealth t'advance, 
To boast of Cattle, flocks of Sheepe, and Goates 
on hils that dance ; 
With much more of this churlish kinde, 
That quite transported Midas mind, 
And held him rapt as in a trance. 

This wrong the God of Musicke scorn'd from 

such a sottish Judge, 
And bent his angry brow at Pan, which made 

the Piper trudge : 

Lyric Poems. 

Then Midas' head he so did trim, 

That ev'ry age yet talkes of him, 

And Phoebus right revenged grudge. 

— *A/\/V*— 

ToMusickeBent.^™' a " d Mora11 

Songs (1613?). 

1 O Musicke bent, is my retyred minde, 

And faine would I some song of pleasure sing ; 
But in vaine joyes no comfort now I finde, 
From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth 
spring : 
Thy power, O God, thy mercies to record, 
Will sweeten ev'ry note and ev'ry word. 

All earthly pompe or beauty to expresse, 

Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write ; 

Celestiall things, though men conceive them 


Yet fullest are they in themselves of light : 

Such beames they yeeld as know no meanes to 

Such heate they cast as lifts the Spirit high. 



The Man of Life D ; vIne and MoralI 
Upright. Son s s ( iGi 3?)- 

1 HE man of life upright, 

Whose guiltlesse hart is free 
From all dishonest deedes, 
Or thought of vanitie ; 

The man whose silent dayes, 
In harmles joys are spent, 

Whome hopes cannot delude 
Nor sorrow discontent ; 

That man needes neyther towres 

Nor armour for defence, 
Nor secret vautes to flie 

From thunder's violence ; 

Hee onely can behold 

With unafrighted eyes 
The horrours of the deepe 

And terrours of the Skies. 

Thus, scorning all the cares 
That fate or fortune brings, 

He makes the heav'n his booke, 
His wisedome heav'nly things ; 

Good thoughts his onely friendes, 
His wealth a well-spent age, 

The earth his sober Inne 
And quiet Pilgrimage. 

Lyric Poems. 

Where are all thy 

Beauties now, Divine and Morall 

all Harts en- Son s s (i&3 ?)• 
chaining ? 

W here are all thy beauties now, all harts 

Whither are thy flatt'rers gone with all their 

All fled, and thou alone still here remayning ! 

Thy rich state of twisted gold to Bayes is 

turned ! 
Cold as thou art, are thy loves that so much 

burned ! 
Who dye in flatt'rers' armes are seldome 


Yet in spite of envie, this be still proclaymed, 
That none worthyer then thyselfe thy worth 

hath blamed ; 
When their poore names are lost, thou shalt 

live famed. 

When thy story long time hence shall be per- 
Let the blemish of thy rule be thus excused, — 
None ever liv'd more just, none more abused. 

Come, Chearfull Divine and Morall 

Day. Son s s - 

V^ome, chearfull day, part of my life, to mee : 
For while thou view'stmevvith thy fading light, 

Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 
And I still onward haste to my last night. 

Time's fatall wings doe ever forward flye : 

So ev'ry day we live, a day wee dye. 

But, O yee nights, ordained for barren rest, 
How are my dayes depriv'd of life in you, 

When heavy sleepe my soul hath dispossest, 
By fayned death life sweetly to renew ! 

Part of my life in that you life denye : 

So ev'ry day we live a day wee dye. 

— vvWv — 

Divine and Morall 


Awake, Awake. 

Awake, awake, thou heavy spright, 
That sleep'st the deadly sleepe of sinne ! 

Rise now and walke the wayes of light ! 
'Tis not too late yet to begin. 

Seeke heav'n earely, seeke it late : 

True Faith still findes an open gate. 
3 b 17 

Lyric Poems. 

Get up, get up, thou leaden man ! 

Thy tracks to endlesse joy, or paine 
Yeeld but the modell of a span ; 

Yet burnes out thy life's lampe in vaine ! 
One minute bounds thy bane, or blisse : 
Then watch, and labour while time is ! 


Followe thy Rosseter Part L 

faire Sunne. (^01). 

x ollowe thy faire sunne, unhappy shaddowe, 

Though thou be blacke as night, 

And she made all of light, 

Yet follow thy faire sunne, unhappie shaddowe ! 

Follow her whose light thy light depriveth ; 

Though here thou liv'st disgrac't, 

And she in heaven is plac't, 

Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth. 

Follow those pure beames whose beautie 

That so have scorched thee, 
As thou still blacke must bee, 
Til her kind beames thy black to brightnes 


Follow her while yet her glorie shineth : 

There comes a luckles night, 

That will dim all her light ; 

And this the black unhappie shade devineth. 


Follow still since so thy fates ordained ; 

The Sunne must have his shade, 

Till both at once doe fade ; 

The sun still prov'd, the shadow still disdained. 

And would you 
see mj 
Face ? 

See my Mistris' Rosseter's Booke of 

Ayres. Part II. (1601) 

/\nd would you see my Mistris' face? 
It is a flowrie garden place, 
Where knots of beauties have such grace, 
That all is worke and nowhere space. 

It is a sweete delicious morne, 
Where day is breeding, never borne ; 
It is a Meadow yet unshorne, 
Whom thousand flowers do adorne. 

It is the heaven's bright reflexe, 
Weake eies to dazle and to vexe : 
It is th' Ideea of her sexe, 
Envie of whome doth worlds perplexe. 

It is a face of death that smiles, 
Pleasing, though it killes the whiles : 
Where death and love in pretie wiles 
Each other mutuallie beguiles. 

Lyric Poems. 

It is faire beautie's freshest youth., 
It is the fained Elizium's truth : 
The spring, that winter' d harts renu'th ; 
And this is that my soule pursu'th. 


VaineMen, Light Conceits of 

Whose Follies. Lovers (1613?). 


aine men, whose follies make a God of 

Whose blindnesse beauty doth immortall deeme; 
Prayse not what you desire, but what you 

Count those things good that are, not those 

that seeme : 
I cannot call her true that's false to me, 
Nor make of women more than women be. 

How fair an entrance breakes the way to love ! 
How rich of golden hope, and gay delight ! 
What hart cannot a modest beauty move ? 
Who, seeing cleare day once, will dreame of 

night ? 
She seem'd a Saint, that brake her faith with 

But prov'd a woman as all other be. 


So bitter is their sweet, that true content 
Unhappy men in them may never finde : 
Ah, but without them none. Both must con- 
Else uncouth are the joyes of eyther kinde. 
Let us then prayse their good, forget their ill ! 
Men must be men, and women women still. 

— -A/\/\fJ- 

Wert thou L '£ ht Conceits 

Lovers (1613?). 

How eas'ly 
wert thoi 

rlow eas'ly wert thou chained, 
Fond hart, by favours fained ! 
Why liv'd thy hopes in grace, 
Straight to die disdained ? 
But since th' art now beguiled 
By Love that falsely smiled, 
In some lesse happy place 
Mourne alone exiled ! 
My love still here increaseth, 
And with my love my griefe, 
While her sweet bounty ceaseth, 
That gave my woes reliefe. 
Yet 'tis no woman leaves me, 
For such may prove unjust ; 
A Goddesse thus deceives me 
Whose faith who could mistrust ? 
A Goddesse so much graced, 
That Paradice is placed 

Lyric Poems. 

In her most heav'nly brest, 

Once by love embraced : 

But love, that so kind proved, 

Is now from her removed, 

Nor will he longer rest 

Where no faith is loved. 

If Powres Celestiall wound us 

And will not yeeld reliefe, 

Woe then must needs confound us, 

For none can cure our grief. 

No wonder if I languish 

Through burden of my smart, 

It is no common anguish 

From Paradice to part. 

Harden now Light Conceits of 

thy tyred Hart. Lovers d6i 3 ?). 

11 arden now thy tyred hart with more then 
flinty rage ! 

Ne'er let her false teares henceforth thy con- 
stant griefe asswage ! 

Once true happy dayes thou saw'st when shee 
stood firme and kinde, 

Both as one then liv'd and held one eare, one 
tongue, one minde : 

But now those bright houres be fled, and never 
may returne ; 

What then remaines but her untruths to 
mourne ? 


Silly Trayt'resse, who shall now thy carelesse 

tresses place? 
Who thy pretty talke supply ? whose eare thy 

musicke grace ? 
Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips 

triumph with thine ? 
Day by day who'll visit thee, and say : Th'art 

onely mine? 
Such a time there was, God wot, but such 

shall never be : 
Too oft, I feare, thou wilt remember me. 

— A/W> 

O what Unhop't 

for Swept L 'S ht Conceits 

Lovers (1613?). 


\J what unhop't for sweet supply ! 

O what joyes exceeding ! 
What an affecting charme feele I, 

From delight proceeding ! 
That which I long despair'd to be, 
To her I am, and shee to mee. 

Shee that alone in cloudy griefe 

Long to mee appeared : 
Shee now alone with bright reliefe 

All those clouds hath cleared. 
Both are immortall and divine, 
Since I am hers, and she is mine. 

Where Shee 
her Sacred 
Bowre Adornes. 

Light Conceits 
Lovers (1613?). 


W here shee her sacred bowre adornes, 

The Rivers clearely flow ; 
The groves and medowes swell with flowres 

The windes all gently blow. 
Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre, 

Her Spring can never fade : 
Who then can blame the life that strives 

To harbour in her shade ? 

Her grace I sought, her love I wooed, 

Her love though I obtaine ; 
No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith, 

Her wished grace can gaine. 
Yet truth can tell my heart is hers, 

And her will I adore ; 
And from that love when I depart, 

Let heav'n view me no more ! 

Her roses with my prayes shall spring ; 

And when her trees I praise, 
Their boughs shall blossome, mellow fruit 

Shall straw her pleasant wayes. 
The words of harty zeale have powre 

High wonders to effect ; 
O why should then her princely eare 

My words, or zeale, neglect ? 


If shee my faith misdeemes, or worth, 

Woe worth my haplesse fate ! 
For though time can my truth reveale, 

That time will come too late. 
And who can glory in the worth, 

That cannot yeeld him grace? 
Content, in ev'rything is not, 

Nor joy in ev'ry place. 

But from her bowre of Joy since I 

Must now excluded be, 
And shee will not relieve my cares, 

Which none can helpe but shee ; 
My comfort in her love shall dwell, 

Her love lodge in my brest, 
And though not in her bowre, yet I 

Shall in her temple rest. 


Faine would I 
My Love 

Light Conceits of 
Lovers (1613?). 

r* aine would I my love disclose, 
Aske what honour might denye ; 
But both love and her I lose, 
From my motion if shee flye. 
Worse then paine is feare to mee : 
Then hold in fancy though it burne ; 
If not happy, safe I'le be, 
And to my clostred cares returne. 

Lyric Poems. 

Yet, O yet, in vaine I strive 
To represse my school'd desire ; 
More and more the flames revive, 
I consume in mine ownefire. 
She would pitty, might shee know 
The harmes that I for her endure : 
Speake then, and get comfort so ; 
A wound long hid growes past recure. 

Wise shee is, and needs must know 
All th' attempts that beauty moves ; 
Fayre she is, and honour'd so 
That she, sure, hath tryed some loves. 
If with love I tempt her then, 
'Tis but her due to be desir'd : 
What would women thinke of men, 
If their deserts were not admir'd ? 

Women courted have the hand 

To discard what they distaste : 

But those Dames whom none demand 

Want oft what their wils imbrac't. 

Could their firmnesse iron excell, 

As they are faire, they should be sought 

When true theeves use falsehood well, 

As they are wise, they will be caught. 

— *A/\J\\ — 



Give Beauty All LIght ConceIts of 

Her Right. Lovers (1613?). 

Utive beauty all her right, 
She's not to one forme tyed ; 
Each shape yeelds faire delight, 
Where her perfections bide. 

Hellen, I grant, might pleasing be ; 

And Ros'mond was as sweet as shee. 

Some, the quicke eye commends ; 

Some, swelling lips and red ; 

Pale lookes have many friends, 

Through sacred sweetnesse bred. 
Medowes have flowres that pleasure move, 
Though Roses are the flowres of love. 

Free beauty is not bound 

To one unmoved clime : 

She visits ev'ry ground, 

And favours ev'ry time. 
Let the old loves with mine compare, 
My Sov'raigne is as sweet and fair. 


Lyric Poems. 

Deare ! that 

1 with Thee 
might Live. 

I With Thee Light Conceits of 

Lovevs (1613 ?). 


deare, that I with thee might live, 
From humane trace removed ! 
Where jealous care might neither grieve, 
Yet each dote on their loved. 
While fond feare may colour finde, Love's 

seldome pleased ; 
But much like a sicke man's rest, it's soone 

Why should our mindes not mingle so, 

When love and faith is plighted, 
That eyther might the other's know, 
Alike in all delighted ? 
Why should frailtie breed suspect, when hearts 

are fixed ? 
Must all humane joys of force with griefe be 
mixed ? 

How oft have wee ev'n smilde in teares, 

Our fond mistrust repenting ? 
As snow when heav'nly fire appeares, 
So melts love's hate relenting. 
Vexed kindnesse soone fals off, and soone 

returneth : 
Such a flame the more you quench the more it 


Good Men shew, Light Conceits of 

if YOU Can Tell. Lovers (1613?). 

vJood men shew, if you can tell, 
Where doth humane pittie dwell? 
Farre and neere her would I seeke 
So vext with sorrow is my brest : 
She, (they say) to all, is meeke ; 
And onely makes th' unhappie blest. 

Oh ! if such a Saint there be, 
Some hope yet remaines for me : 
Prayer or sacrifice may gaine 
From her implored grace reliefe ; 
To release mee of my paine, 
Or at the least to ease my griefe. 

Young am I, and farre from guile, 
The more is my woe the while : 
Falshood with a smooth disguise 
My simple meaning hath abus'd : 
Casting mists before thine eyes, 
By which my senses are confus'd. 

Faire he is, who vow'd to me 
That he onely mine would be ; 
But, alas, his minde is caught 
With ev'ry gaudie bait he sees : 
And too late my flame is taught 
That too much kindnesse makes men freese. 

Lyric Poems. 

From me all my friends are gone 
While I pine for him alone ; 
And not one will rue my case, 
But rather my distresse deride : 
That I thinke there is no place 
Where pittie ever yet did bide. 

— M/\yv<— 

Whether Men 

doe Laugh or p**"** **" 


W hether men doe laugh or weepe, 
Whether they doe wake or sleepe, 
Whether they die yoong or olde, 
Whether they feele heate or colde ; 
There is, underneath the sunne, 
Nothing in true earnest done. 

All our pride is but a jest, 
None are worst, and none are best, 
Griefe, and joy, and hope, and feare, 
Play their Pageants everywhere : 
Vaine opinion all doth sway, 
And the world is but a play. 

Powers above in cloudes do sit, 
Mocking our poore apish wit ; 
That so lamely, with such state, 
Their high glorie imitate : 
No ill can be felt but paine, 
And that happie men disdaine 

What then is 
Love but 
Mourning ? 

A Booke of 
Part II. (1601). 


What then is love but mourning? 
v 1 MWhat desire, but a selfe-burning ? 
Till shee, that hates, doth love returns, 
Thus will I mourne, thus will I sing, 

Come away ! come away, my darling ! 

Beautie is but a blooming, 

Youth in his glorie entombing ; 

Time hath a while which none can stay ; 

Then come away, while thus I sing, 

Come away ! come away, my darling ! 

Sommer in winter fadeth ; 

Gloomie night heav'nly light shadeth : 
Like to the morne, are Venus' flowers ; 
Such are her bowers : then will I sing, 

Come away ! come away, my darling ! 

— W\/Vvv— 


Lyric Poems. 

Kinde in Un- 

kindnesse, when p J*"* °! Ayres ' 

' Part II. (1601). 

will You relent. 


kiNDE in unkindnesse, when will you relent 
And cease with faint love true love to torment ? 
Still entertained, excluded still I stand ; 
Her glove still holde, but cannot touch the 

In her faire hand my hopes and comforts rest ; 
O might my fortunes with that hand be blest ! 
No envious breaths then my deserts could 

For they are good whom such true love doth 


O let not beautie so forget her birth, 
That it should fruitles home returne to earth ! 
Love is the fruite of beautie, then love one ! 
Not your sweete selfe, for such selfe-love is 

Love one that onely lives in loving you ; 
Whose wrong'd deserts would you with pity 

This strange distast which your affections 

Would relish love, and you find better daies. 


Thus till my happie sight your beautie viewes, 
Whose sweet remembrance stil my hope 

Let these poore lines sollicite love for mee, 
And place my joyes where my desires would 


— -aA/V- 1 — 
When Laura Roster. Part II. 

Smiles. o&o.-a. h. b. 

When Laura smiles her sight revives both 

night and day ; 
The earth and heaven views with delight her 

wanton play : 
And her speech with ever-flowing music doth 

The cruel wounds of sorrow and untamed 


The sprites that remain in fleeting air 

Affect for pastime to untwine her tressed hair : 

And the birds think sweet Aurora, Morning's 

Queen, doth shine 
From her bright sphere, when Laura shows 

her looks divine. 

Diana's eyes are not adorned with greater 

Than Laura's, when she lists awhile for sport 

to lower : 
8 c 33 

Lyric Poems. 

But when she her eyes encloseth, blindness 

doth appear 
The chiefest grace of beauty, sweetly seated 


Love hath no power but what he steals from 

her bright eyes ; 
Time hath no power but that which in her 

pleasure lies : 
For she with her divine beauties all the world 

And fills with heavenly spirits my humble 


— A/WW- 

Unrhymed song from 

" Observations in the Art 

t> iii of English Poesie," 1602. 

Rose-cheeked .. The fe number/ . says 

IvcllU'cl Campion, " is voluble, 

and fit to express 
any amorous conceit." — 
A. H. B. 

Iyose-cheeked Laura, come ; 
Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's 
Silent music, either other 

Sweetly gracing. 
Lovely forms do flow 
From concent divinely framed ; 
Heav'n is music, and thy beauty's 

Birth is heavenly. 
These dull notes we sing 
Discords need for helps to grace them, 


Only beauty purely loving 

Knows no discord, 
But still moves delight, 
Like clear springs renewed by flowing, 
Ever perfect, ever in them- 

Selves eternal. 

Anacreontic from ' ' Ob- 

Scornfull Laura. servations in the An of 

English Poesie" (1602).— 
A. H. B. 

r OLLOW, follow, 

Though with mischief 
Armed, like whirlwind 
Now she flies thee ; 
Time can conquer 
Love's unkindness ; 
Love can alter 
Time's disgraces : 
Till death faint not 
Then, but follow. 
Could I catch that 
Nimble traitor 
Scornful Laura, 
Swift-foot Laura, 
Soon then would I 
Seek avengement. 
What's th' avengement ? 
Ev'n submissly 
Prostrate then to 
Beg for mercy. 

Lyric Poems. 

See where She 
flies enrag'd 
from Me ! 

Rosseter. Part I. 

Oee where she flies enrag'd from me ! 

View her when she intends despite, 

The winde is not more swift than shee. 

Her furie mov'd such terror makes, 

As to a fearfull guiltie sprite, 

The voice of heav'ns huge thundercracks : 

But when her appeased minde yeelds to delight, 

All her thoughts are made of joies, 

Millions of delights inventing ; 

Other pleasures are but toies 

To her beautie's sweet contenting. 

My fortune hangs upon her brow ; 

For as she smiles, or frownes on mee, 

So must my blowne affections bow ; 

And her proude thoughts too well do find 

With what unequall tyrannie 

Her beauties doe command my mind. 

Though when her sad planet raignes, 

Froward she bee, 

She alone can pleasure move, 

And displeasing sorrow banish. 

May I but still hold her love, 

Let all other comforts vanish. 



Your faire 

Lookes enflame (i ^ eter Part l ' 

my Desire. 

Y our faire lookes enflame my desire : 

Quench it againe with love ! 
Stay, O strive not still to retire : 

Doe not inhumane prove ! 
If love may perswade, 

Love's pleasures, deare, denie not. 
Here is a silent grovie shade ; 

O tarry then, and fly not ! 

Have I seaz'd my heavenly delight 

In this unhaunted grove? 
Time shall now her furie requite 

With the revenge of love. 
Then come, sweetest, come, 

My lips with kisses gracing ! 
Here let us harbour all alone, 

Die, die in sweete embracing ! 

Will you now so timely depart, 

And not returne againe ? 
Your sight lends such life to my hart 

That to depart is paine. 
Feare yeelds no delay, 

Securenes helpeth pleasure : 
Then, till the time gives safer stay, 

O farewell, my live's treasure I 

Lyric Poems. 

The Fairie 




Oarke, al you ladies that do sleep ! 

The fayry queen Proserpina 
Bids you awake and pitie them that weep. 
You may doe in the darke 

What the day doth forbid ; 
Feare not the dogs that barke, 
Night will have all hid. 

But if you let your lovers mone, 

The Fairie Queene Proserpina 
Will send abroad her Fairies ev'rie one, 
That shall pinch blacke and blew 

Your white hands and faire armes 
That did not kindly rue 

Your Paramours harmes. 

In Myrtle Arbours on the downes 

The Fairie Queene Proserpina, 
This night by moone-shine leading merrie 
Holds a watch with sweet love, 
Down the dale, up the hill ; 
No plaints or groanes may move 
Their holy vigill. 


All you that will hold watch with love, 

The Fairie Queene Proserpina 
Will make you fairer than Dione's dove 
Roses red, Lillies white, 

And the cleare damaske hue, 
Shall on your cheekes alight : 
Love will adorne you. 

All you that love or lov'd before, 

The Fairie Queene Proserpina 
Bids you encrease that loving humour more : 
They that yet have not fed 

On delight amorous, 
She vows that they shall lead 
Apes in Avernus. 


It fell OII a Rosseter's Booke of 

Sommer'sDay. Ayres - PartL (l6oi) - 

It fell on a sommer's day, 
While sweete Bessie sleeping laie, 
In her bowre, on her bed, 
Light with curtaines shadowed, 
Jamy came : shee him spies, 
Opning halfe her heavie eies. 

Jamy stole in through the dore, 

She lay slumb'ring as before ; 

Softly to her he drew neere, 

She heard him, yet would not heare : 

Bessie vowed not to speake, 

He resolv'd that dumpe to breake. 

First a soft kisse he doth take, 
She lay still, and would not wake ; 
Then his hands learn'd to woo, 
She dreamp't not what he would doo, 
But still slept, while he smild 
To see love by sleepe beguild. 

Jamy then began to play, 
Bessie as one buried lay, 
Gladly still through this sleight, 
Deceiv'd in her owne deceit ; 
And since this traunce begoon, 
She sleepes ev'rie afternoone. 


MaydeS are Third Booke of Ayres 

Simple. (l6l ' ? >- 

IVIaydes are simple, some men say, 
They, forsooth, will trust no men. 
But should they men's wils obey, 
Maides were very simple then. 

Truth a rare flower now is growne, 
Few men weare it in their hearts ; 
Lovers are more easily knowne 
By their follies, then deserts. 

Safer may we credit give 
To a faithlesse wandring Jew 
Then a young man's vowes beleeve 
When he sweares his love is true. 

Love they make a poore blinde childe. 
But let none trust such as hee : 
Rather then to be beguil'd, 
Ever let me simple be. 


Lyric Poems. 


seduce Me then J™* Booke of Ayres 

with Words. 

I hink'st thou to seduce me then with words 

that have no meaning ? 
Parrats so can learne to prate, our speech by 

pieces gleaning : 
Nurces teach their children so about the time 

of weaning. 

Learne to speake first, then to wooe : to wooing, 

much pertayneth : 
Hee that courts us, wanting Arte, soone falters 

when he fayneth, 
Lookes asquint on his discourse, and smiles, 

when hee complaineth. 

Skilfull Anglers hide their hookes, fit baytes for 

every season ; 
But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes doe, 

that want reason : 
Gogions onely can be caught with such poore 

trickes of treason. 

Ruth forgive me, if I err'd from humane heart's 

When I laught sometimes too much to see thy 

foolish fashion : 
But, alas, who lesse could doe that found so 

good occasion ? 



Fain would I Fourth Booke of 

Wed. Ayres (1617?).— A. H. B. 

V ain would I wed a fair young man that day 

and night could please me, 
When my mind or body grieved that had the 

power to ease me. 
Maids are full of longing thoughts that breed a 

bloodless sickness, 
And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by 

Oft I have been wooed and prayed, but never 

could be moved ; 
Many for a day or so I have most dearly loved, 
But this foolish mind of mine straight loathes 

the thing resolved ; 
If to love be sin in me that sin is soon absolved. 
Sure I think I shall at last fly to some holy 

order ; 
When I once am settled there then can I fly no 

Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a 

mother ; 
As I was by one brought forth I would bring 

forth another. 

— a/W^ 


Lyric Poems. 

Ev'ry Dame 

affects gfood Fourth Booke of 

_, & Ayres(i6i 7 ?). 


JlLv'ry dame affects good fame, what ere her 

doings be : 
But true prayse is Vertues Bayes which none 

may weare but she. 
Borrow'd 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 toyes are sold, these 

women to disguise, 
That before the yeare growes old the newest 

fashion dyes. 

Dames of yore contended more in goodnesse 

to exceede 
Then in pride to be envi'd, for that which least 

they neede. 
Little Lawne then serv'd the Pawne, if Pawne 

at all there were ; 
Homespun thread, and houshold bread, then 

held out all the yeare. 
But th' attyres of women now weare out both 

house and land ; 
That the wives in silkes may How, at ebbe the 

Good-men stand. 



Once agen, Astrea, then, from heav'n to earth 

And vouchsafe in their behalfe these errours to 

amend ! 
Aid from heav'n must make all ev'n, things are 

so out of frame ; 
For let man strive all he can, hee needes must 

please his Dame. 
Happy man, content that gives and what hee 

gives, enjoys ! 
Happy dame, content that lives and breakes no 

sleepe for toyes ! 

— WWVv— 

Thoujoy'st, Fourth Booke o{ 

Fond Boy. Ayres(i6i7?). 

1 hou joy'st, fond boy, to be by many loved, 
To have thy beauty of most dames approved ; 
For this dost thou thy native worth disguise 
And play'st the Sycophant t' observe their eyes ; 
Thy glasse thou councel'st more t' adorne thy 

That first should schoole thee to be fay re 


'Tis childish to be caught with Pearle or 

And woman-like too much to cloy the chamber ; 
Youths should the Field affect, heate their 

rough Steedes, 
Their hardned nerves to fit for better deedes. 


Lyric Poems. 

Is't not more joy strong Holds to force with 

Then women's weaknesse take with lookes or 

words ? 

Men that doe noble things all purchase glory : 
One man for one brave Act hath prov'd a 

story : 
But if that one tenne thousand Dames o'er- 

Who would record it, if not to his shame? 
Tis farre more conquest with one to live true, 
Than every hour to triumph Lord of new. 

— 'A/Vvv— 

Silly Boy, 'tis Third Booke of Ayres 

full Moon yet. (^ 7 i). 

Oili.y boy, 'tis ful moone yet, thy night as day 

shines clearely ; 
Had thy youth but wit tofeare, thou couldst not 

love so dearely. 
Shortly wilt thou mourne when all thy pleasures 

are bereaved ; 
Little knowes he how to love that never was 


This is thy first mayden flame, that triumphes 

yet unstayned ; 
All is artlesse now you speake, not one word yet 

is fayned ; 

4 6 


All is heav'n that you behold, and all your 

thoughts are blessed ; 
But no spring can want his fall, each Troylus 

hath his Cresseid. 

Thy well-order'd lockes ere long shall rudely 

hang neglected ; 
And thy lively pleasant cheare reade griefe on 

earth dejected. 
Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that 

made thy heart so holy, 
And with sighes confesse, in love, that too much 

faith is folly. 

Yet be just and constant still ! Love may 

beget a wonder, 
Not unlike a summer's frost, or winter's fatall 

Hee that holds his svveethart true, unto his day 

of dying, 
Lives, of all that ever breath'd, most worthy 

the envying. 

If Thou longest. ™ Booke of A y res 

° (1617")- 

1 F thou longest so much to learne, sweet boy, 

what 'tis to love, 
Doe but fix thy thought on niee and thou shalt 
quickly prove. 

Little suit, at first, shall win 

Way to thy abasht desire, 
But then will I hedge thee in 
Salamander-like with fire. 

With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond 

dalliance beare ; 
We the grovy hils will climbe, and play the 
wantons there ; 

Other whiles wee'le gather flowres, 
Lying dalying on the grasse ! 
And thus our delightful howres 

Full of waking dreames shall passe ! 

When thy joyes were thus at height, my love 

should turne from thee ; 
Old acquaintance then should grow as strange 
as strange might be ; 

Twenty rivals thou shouldst finde, 

Breaking all their hearts for mee, 
While to all I'le prove more kinde 
And more forward then to thee. 
4 3 


Thus, thy silly youth, enrag'd, would soone my 

love defie ; 
But, alas, poore soule too late ! dipt wings can 
never flye. 

Those sweet houres which wee had past, 
Cal'd to minde, thy heart would 
burne ; 
And couldst thou flye ne'er so fast, 
They would make thee straight 

Break now, my Third Booke of Ayres 
Heart. < l6l ? ? >- 

DREAKE now, my heart, and dye ! O no, she 

may relent. 
Let my despaire prevayle ! Oh stay, hope is not 

Should she now fixe one smile on thee ; where 
were despair ? 
Thelosse isbuteasie, which smiles can repayre. 
A stranger would please thee, if she were as 

Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes 

as shee ; 
The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not 

mee ! 
But cannot time make way for love through 
ribs of Steele ? 
The Grecian inchanted all parts but the heele, 
Atlast ashaft daunted, which his hart did feele. 
S d 49 

Lyric Poems. 

The Peacefull Light Conceits of 
WesterneWinde. Lovers (1613?). 

1 HE peacefull westerne vvinde 

The winter stormes hath tam'd, 

And nature in each kinde 

The kinde heat hath inflam'd : 
The forward buds so sweetly breathe 

Out of their earthy bowers, 
That heav'n which viewes their pompe beneath, 

Would faine be deckt with flowers. 

See how the morning smiles 
On her bright easterne hill, 
And with soft steps beguiles 
Them that lie slumbring still ! 

The musicke-loving birds are come 
From cliffes and rockes unknowne, 

To see the trees and briers blome 
That late were overflowne. 

What Saturn did destroy, 
Love's Queene revives againe ; 
And now her naked boy 
Doth in the fields remaine, 

Where he such pleasing change doth view- 
In every living thing, 

As if the world were borne anew 
To gratifie the Spring. 


If all things life present, 

Why die my comforts then ? 

Why suffers my content ? 

Am I the worst of men ? 
O beautie, be not thou accus'd 

Too justly in this case ! 
Unkindly if true love be us'd, 

'Twill yeeld thee little grace. 

— /\/\/Vv»— 

TL • -nt Light Conceits c 

There IS None. Lovers (1613?). 

1 here is none, O none but you, 
That from mee estrange your sight, 

Whom mine eyes affect to view 
Or chained eares heare with delight. 

Other beauties others move, 

In you I all graces finde ; 
Such is the effect of love, 

To make them happy that are kinde. 

Women in fraile beauty trust, 
Onely seeme you faire to mee ; 

Yet prove truely kinde and just, 
For that may not dissembled be. 

Sweet, afford mee then your sight, 
That, survaying all your lookes, 

Endlesse volumes I may write 
And fill the world with envyed bookes 


Lyric Poems. 

Which when after-ages view, 
All shall wonder and despairc, 

Woman to find man so true, 
Or man a woman half so faire. 

Sweet, exclude Light Conceits of 

Mee not. Lovers (1613?). 

OWEET, exclude mee not, nor be divided 
From him that ere long must bed thee : 

All thy maiden doubts law hath decided ; 
Sure wee are, and I must wed thee. 

Presume then yet a little more : 

Here's the way, barre not the dore. 

Tenants, to fulfill their Landlord's pleasure, 
Pay their rent before the quarter : 

Tis my case, if you it rightly measure ; 
Put mee not then off with laughter. 

Consider then a little more : 

Here's the way to all my store. 

Why were dores in love's despight devised ? 

Are not Lawes enough restrayrung? 
Women are most apt to be surprised 

Sleeping, or sleepe wisely fayning. 
Then grace me yet a little more : 
Here's the way, barre not the dore. 



Song from the " Masque 
at the Marriage of the 
M V. iX, ^ord Hayes," 1606. 

WOW nath "As soon as they came 

Flora t0 l ^ e d escent towar d tne 

dancing place, the con- 
cert often ceased, and the 
four Sylvans played the 
same air, to which Zephyrus and the two other Svlvans 
did sing these words in a bass, tenor, and treble voice, 
and going up and down as they sung they strewed 
flowers all about the place." — A. H, B. 

IN ow hath Flora rob'd her bowers 
To befrend this place with flowers : 

Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! 
The Skye rayn'd never kindlyer showers. 
Flowers with Bridalls well agree, 
Fresh as brides and bridgroomes be : 

Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! 
And mixe them with fit melodie. 

Earth hath no Princelier flowers 
Then Roses white and Roses red, 
But they must still be mingled : 
And as a rose new pluckt from Venus' thorn, 
So doth a bride her bridegroome's bed adorne. 

Divers divers flowers affect 
For some private deare respect : 

Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! 
Let every one his owne protecte ; 
But he's none of Flora's friend 
That will not the Rose commend. 

Strowe aboute, strowe aboute ! 

Lyric Poems. 

Let Princes Princely flowers defend : 

Roses, the garden's pride, 
Are flowers for love and flowers for Kinges, 
In courts desired, aud Weddings : 
And as a rose in Venus' bosome worne, 
So doth a Bridegroome his Bride's bed adorne. 


J-Jpr T?ocif» Light Conceits of Lovers 

* , (1613?). 'Currall' (1. 5). 

Lneekes. cord. 


.ER rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes, 
Are Spheares and beds, where Love in triumph 

lies : 
Her rubine lips, when they their pearle unlock**, 
Make them seeme as they did rise 
All out of one smooth Currall Rocke. 
Oh that of other Creatures' store I knew 
More worthy and more rare : 
For these are old, and shee so new, 
That her to them none should compare. 

O could she love, would shee but heare a friend ; 

Or that shee onely knew what sighs pretend. 

Her lookes inflame, yet cold as Ice is she. 

Doe or speake, all's to one end, 

For what shee is that will shee be. 

Yet will I never cease her prayse to sing, 

Though she gives no regard : 

For they that grace a worthlesse thing, 

Are onely greedy of reward. 



/-. a Light Conceits 

Come Away. LoveU^?). 

V-/OME away, arm'd with love's delights, 
Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee, 
When love's longing fights, 
They must the sticklers be. 
Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is 

wel-nye spent, 
And pleasure being too much deferr'd, looseth 
her best content. 

Is shee come ? O, how neare is shee ? 

How farre yet from this friendly place? 
How many steps from me? 
When shall I her imbrace ? 
These armes I'le spred, which onely at her 

sight shall close, 
Attending as the starry flowre that the Sun's 
noonetide knowes. 

What Harvest Light Conceits of 
wnat narvebt. Lovers (l6l3?) . 

W hat harvest halfe so sweet is 
As still to reape the kisses 

Growne ripe in sowing? 
And straight to be receiver 
Of that which thou art giver, 

Rich in bestowing ? 

Lyric Poems. 

Kisse then, my harvest Queene, 

Full garners heaping ; 
Kisses, ripest when th' are greene, 

Want onely reaping. 

The Dove alone expresses 
Her fervencie in kisses, 

Of all most loving : 
A creature as offencelesse 
As those things that are sencelesse 

And void of moving. 
Let us so love and kisse, 

Though all envie us : 
That which kinde, and harmlesse is, 

None can denie us. 


So many Loves. 

Light Conceits of 
Lovers (1613?). 

Oo many loves have I neglected, 

Whose good parts might move mee, 
That now 1 live of all rejected, 

There is none will love me. 
Why is mayden heat so coy ? 

It freezeth when it burneth, 
Looseth what it might injoy, 

And, having lost it, mourneth. 

Should I then wooe, that have beene wooed, 

Seeking them that flye mee ? 
When I my faith with teares have vowed, 

And when all denye mee, 



Who will pitty my disgrace, 
Which love might have prevented ? 

There is no submission base 
Where error is repented. 

O happy men, whose hopes arelicenc'd 

To discourse their passion, 
While women are confin'd to silence, 

Loosing wisht occasion ! 
Yet our tongues then theirs, men say, 

Are apter to be moving : 
Women are more dumbe then they, 

But in their thoughts more moving. 

When I compare my former strangenesse 

With my present doting, 
I pitty men that speak in plainnesse, 

Their true heart's devoting ; 
While we with repentance jest 

At their submissive passion. 
Maydes, I see, are never blest, 

That strange be but for fashion. 


Come, you 
Pretty False- 
ey'd Wanton. 

Light Conceits 
Lovers (1613?). 


v^ome, you pretty false-ey'd wanton, 

Leave your crafty smiling ! 
Think you to escape me now 

With slipp'ry words beguiling ! 
No ; you mockt me th'other day ; 

When you got loose, you fled away 
But, since I have caught you now, 

Tie clip your wings for flying : 
Smoth'ring kisses fast I'le heape, 

And keepe you so from crying. 

Sooner may you count the starres, 

And number hayle downe pouring, 
Tell the osiers of the Temmes, 

Or Goodwin's Sands devouring, 
Then the thicke-shower'd kisses here 

Which now thy tyred lips must beare. 
Such a harvest never was, 

So rich and full of pleasure, 
But 'tis spent as soone as reapt, 

So trustlesse is love's treasure. 


Would it were dumb midnight now, 

When all the world lyes sleeping ! 
Would this place some Desert were, 

Which no man hath in keeping ! 
My desires should then be safe, 

And when you cry'd then would I laugh 
But if aught might breed offence, 

Love onely should be blamed : 
I would live your servant still, 

And you my Saint unnamed. 


Where shall I Light conceit* of 

Refuge Seek. Loveri; < l6l 3 ? >- 

W here shall I refuge seek, if you refuse mee ? 
In you my hope, in you my fortune lyes, 
In you my life, though you unjust accuse me, 
My service scorne, and merit underprise : 
Oh bitter griefe ! that exile is become 
Reward for faith, and pittiedeafe and dumbe. 

Why should my firmnesse finde a seate so 

wav'ring ? 
My simple vowes, my love you entertain'd ; 
Without desert the same againe disfav'ring ; 
Yet I my word and passion hold unstain'd. 

O wretched me ! that my chiefe joy should 

My onely griefe, and kindnesse pitty neede. 

Lyric Poems. 

The Sypres , *?*?• w? \' 

Jr (.601). 'Sypres' (1. i), 

Curten. cypress. 

1 he Sypres curten of the night is spread, 
And over all a silent dewe is cast. 
The weaker cares by sleepe are conquered : 
But I alone, with hidious grief agast, 
In spite of Morpheus charmes, a watch doe 

Over mine eies, to banish carelesse sleepe. 

Yet oft my trembling eyes through faintnes 

And then the Mappe of hell before me stands, 
Which Ghosts doe see, and I am one of those 
Ordain'd to pine in sorrowes endles bands, 
Since from my wretched soule all hopes are reft, 
And now no cause of life to me is left. 

Griefe ceaze my soul, for that will still endure 
When my cras'd body is consum'd and gone ; 
Beare it to thy blacke denne, there keepe it sure 
Where thou ten thousand soules doest tyre 

upon ! 
Yet all doe not affoord such foode to thee 
As this poore one, the worser part of mee. 



Song of two Voices, a 
T ,, ~ . bass and tenor, sung by 

1 ell me, Lrentle a Sylvan and an Hour at 

Howre of Night. the " Masque at the Mar ," 

° riage of the Lord Hayes. ' 

Twelfth Night (1606). 


1 ell me, gentle howre of night, 
Wherein dost thou most delight? 


Not in sleepe. 


Wherein then ? 


In the frolicke vew of men ? 

Lovest thou Musicke ? 


O 'tis sweet 

What's dauncing? 


Ev'n the mirth of feele 

Joy you in Fayries and in elves 


Lyric Poems. 

We are of that sort ourselves. 
But, Silvan, say why do you love 
Onely to frequent the grove ? 

Life is fullest of content, 
Where delight is innocent. 

Pleasure must varie, not be long. 
Come then let's close, and end our song. 

Yet, ere we vanish from this princely sight, 
Let us bid Phcebus and his states good-night. 



A song of three voices 

with divers instruments. 

.. From the Masque given 

aS Well aS by Lord Knowles to 

Brightest Da.V Queen Anne: at Cawsome 

° * ' House, near Reading. 

April, 1613. " At the 

end of this song enters 

Sylvanus, shaped after the description of the ancient 

writers ; his lower parts like a goat, and his upper 

parts in an antic habit of rich taffeta, cut into leaves, 

and on his head he had a false hair, with a wreath of 

long boughs and lilies, that hung dangling about his 

neck, and in his hand a cypress branch, in memory 

of his love Cyparissus." 


ight as well as brightest day hath her delight, 
Let us then with mirth and Musicke decke the 

Never did glad day such store 

Of joy to night bequeath : 
Her Starres then adore, 
Both in Heav'n, and here beneath. 

Love and beautie, mirth and musicke yeeld true 

Though the Cynickes in their folly count them 

Raise your spirits ne're so high, 

They will be apt to fall : 
None brave thoughts envie, 
Who had ere brave thought at all. 

Lyric Poems. 

Joy is the sweete friend of life, the nurse of 

Patron of all health, and fountaine of all good : 
Never may joy hence depart, 

But all your thoughts attend ; 
Nought can hurt the heart, 

That retaines so sweete a friend. 

Follow your Rosseter's Booke of 

Sclint Ayres. Part I. (1601). 

X* ollow your Saint, follow with accents 

sweet ! 
Haste you, sad noates, fall at her flying fleete ! 
There, wrapt in cloud of sorrowe, pitie move, 
And tell the ravisher of my soule, I perish for 

her love : 
But if she scorns my never-ceasing paine, 
Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne're 

returne againe ! 

All that I soong still to her praise did tend ; 
Still she was first, still she my songs did end, 
Yet she my love and Musicke both doth flie, 
The Musicke that her Eccho is and beauties 

Then let my Noates pursue her scornefull flight ! 
It shall suffice, that they were brcath'd, and dyed 

for her delight. 



Faire, if yOU A Booke of Ayres 

Expect. (l601 )- 

P aire, if you expect admiring, 
Sweet, if you provoke desiring, 
Grace deere love with kind requiting. 
Fond, but if thy sight be blindnes, 
False, if thou affect unkindnes, 
Flie both love and love's delighting ! 
Then when hope is lost and love is scorned, 
He bury my desires, and quench the fires that 
ever yet in vaine have burned. 

Fates, if you rule lovers' fortune, 
Stars, if men your powers importune, 
Yield reliefe by your relenting ; 
Time, if sorrow be not endles, 
Hope made vaine, and pittie friendles, 
Helpe to ease my long lamenting. 
But if griefes remaine still unredressed, 
I'le flie to her againe, and sue for pitie to renue 
my hopes distressed. 

Blame not My 

Cheeks. A Booke of Ayres. 

.Dlame not my cheeks, though pale with love 

they be ; 
The kindly heate unto my heart is flowne, 
To cherish it that is dismaid by thee, 
8 E 65 

Lyric Poems. 

Who art so cruell and unsteedfast growne : 
For Nature, cald for by distressed harts, 
Neglects and quite forsakes the outward partes. 

But they whose cheekes with careles blood are 

Nurse not one sparke of love within their harts ; 
And, when they woe, they speake with passion 

For their fat love lyes in their outward parts : 
But in their brests, where love his court should 

Poore Cupid sits, and blowes his nailes for cold. 

— vwv. — 

When the God 

_ _ _ . _ A Booke of Ayres(i6oi). 

of Merne Love. 

W hen the god of merrie love 
As yet in his cradle lay, 
Thus his wither'd nurse did say : 
' ' Thou a wanton boy wilt prove 
To deceive the powers above ; 
For by thy continuall smiling 
I see thy power of beguiling." 

Therewith she the babe did kisse ; 
When a sodaine fire outcame 
From those burning lips of his, 
That did her with love enflame. 
But none would regard the same : 
So that, to her daie of dying, 
The old wretch liv'd ever crying. 


Song from the Lord's 

Masque, presented in the 

Banqueting House on the 

WOO Her, and Marriage Night of the 

w;« Wo,- IIlgh and M 'g ht y Count 

Win ner. Palatine, and the Royally 

descended the Lady 
Elizabeth. (Shrove-Sun- 
day 1612-1613). 

VV 00 her, and win her, he that can ; 

Each woman hath two lovers, 
So she must take and leave a man, 

Till time more grace discovers. 
This doth Jove to shew that want 

Makes beauty most respected ; 
If fair women were more scant, 

They would be more affected. 

Courtship and music suit with love, 

They both are works of passion ; 
Happy is he whose words can move, 

Yet sweet notes help persuasion. 
Mix your words with music then, 

That they the more may enter ; 
Bold assaults are fit for men, 

That on strange beauties venture. 



Lyric Poems. 

Jacke and Jone 
They thinke no 

Divine and Morall 

J ACKE and Jone they thinke no ill, 

But loving live, and merry still ; 

Do their weeke-dayes' worke, and pray 

Devotely on the holy day : 

Skip and trip it on the greene, 

And help to chuse the Summer Queene ; 

Lash out, at a Country Feast, 

Their silver penny with the best. 

Well can they judge of nappy Ale, 
And tell at large a Winter tale ; 
Climbe up to the Apple loft, 
And turne the crabs till they be soft. 
Tib is all the father's joy, 
And little Tom the mother's boy. 
All their pleasure is Content ; 
And care, to pay their yearely rent. 

Jone can call by name her Cowes, 
And decke her windowes with greene boughs ; 
Shee can wreathes and tuttyes make, 
And trimme with plums a Bridall Cake. 
Jacke knowes what brings gaine or losse ; 
And his long Flaile can stoutly tosse, 
Make the hedge which others break, 
And ever thinkes what he doth speake. 


Now you Courtly Dames and Knights, 
That study onely strange delights ; 
Though you scorn the homespun gray, 
And revell in your rich array : 
Though your tongues dissemble deepe, 
And can your heads from danger keepe ; 
Yet for all your pomp and traine, 
Securer lives the silly Swaine. 

— A/\/VV* — 

Songs from the " Masque 

at the Marriage of the 

_, A U Earl of Somerset and the 

Lome Ashore, L a d y Francis Howard," 

Come Saint Stephen's Night, 


"Straight in the 
Thames appeared four 
barges with skippers in them, and withall this song 
was sung." 

"At the conclusion of this [first] song arrived 
twelve skippers in red caps, with short cassocks and 
long flaps wide at the knees, of white canvas striped 
with crimson, white gloves and pumps, and red 
stockings : these twelve danced a brave and lively 
dance, shouting and triumphing after their manner.'' 


V^OME ashore, come, merry mates, 
With your nimble heels and pates : 
Summon ev'ry man his knight, 
Enough honoured is this night. 
Now, let your sea-born goddess come, 
Quench these lights, and make all dumb. 
Some sleep ; others let her call : 
And so good-night to all, good-night to all. 

Lyric Poems. 


Haste aboard, haste now away ! 

Hymen frowns at your delay. 

Hymen doth long nights affect ; 

Yield him then his due respect. 

The sea-born goddess straight will come, 

Quench these lights, and make all dumb. 

Some sleep ; others she will call : 

And so good-night to all, good-night to all. 

-wvVv* — 

" Written in i594i" 
s;iys Mr Bullen, for the 

Of Neptune's Gra v' s Inn ^^'] ue 

. Gesta Graiorum, u which 

Empire. is printed in Nichols 

Progresses of Queen 

Of Neptune's Empire let us sing, 
At whose command the waves obey ; 
To whom the rivers tribute pay, 
Down the high mountains sliding : 
To whom the scaly nation yields 
Homage for the crystal fields 

Wherein they dwell : 
And every sea-god pays a gem 
Yearly out of his wat'ry cell 
To deck great Neptune's diadem. 

The Tritons dancing in a ring 
Before his palace gates do make 
The water with their echoes quake, 
Like the great thunder sounding : 


The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill 
And the sirens, taught to kill 

With their sweet voice, 
Make ev'ry echoing rock reply 
Unto their gentle murmuring noise 
The praise of Neptune's empery. 

Shall I Come. p^L? ^ 

Ohal I come, if I swim ? wide are ye waves, 

you see : 
Shall I come, if I flie, my deere Love, to thee? 
Streames Venus will appease ; Cupid gives me 

winges ; 
All the powers assist my desire 
Save you alone, that set my wofull heart on 


You are faire, so was Hero that in Sestos dwelt ; 

She a priest, yet the heat of love truly felt. 

A greater streame then this, did her love de- 
vide ; 

But she was his guide with a light : 

So through the streames Leander did enjoy 
her sight. 

— A/VW- 

Oft have I 

The First Song in the 
Third Booke of Ayres 

Uft have I sigh'd for him that heares me 

not ; 
Who absent hath both love and mee forgot. 
O yet I languish still through his delay : 
Dayes seeme as yeares when wisht friends breake 

their day. 

Had he but lov'd as common lovers use, 
His faithlesse stay some kindnesse would ex- 
cuse : 
O yet I languish still, still constant mourne 
For him that can breake vowes, but not returne. 

— ^AA/V* — 


Now let her The Second Song in 

the Third Booke of 
Change. Ayres (1617 ?). 

IN ow let her change and spare not ! 
Since she proves strange I care not : 
Fain'd love charm'd so my delight, 
That still I doted on her sight. 
But she is gone, new joyes imbracing 
And my desires disgracing. 

When did I erre in blindnesse, 
Or vexe her with unkindnesse? 
If my cares serv'd her alone, 
Why is shee thus untimely gone? 
True love abides to t' houre of dying : 
False love is ever flying. 

False, then farewell for ever ! 
Once false proves faithfull never : 
He that boasts now of thy love, 
Shall soone my present fortunes prove. 
Were he as faire as bright Adonis, 
Faith is not had, where none is. 

— a/VVw— 

Lyric Poems. 

Were my Hart. Third Bouke of A y rts 

J (1617?). 

VV ere my hart as some men's are, thy 
errours would not move me ; 

But thy faults I curious finde and speake be- 
cause I love thee : 

Patience is a thing divine and farre, I grant, 
above mee. 

Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker 

deedes objecting, 
Then th' obsequious bosome guest, with false 

respect affecting. 
Friendship is the Glasse of Truth, our hidden 

staines detecting. 

While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of 

Thy observer will I be and censor, but in 

season : 
Hidden mischiefe to conceale in State and 

Love is treason. 

Cq Xvr'd Third Booke of Ayres 

' (1G17?). 

Oo tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and 

spirits faile : 
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle. 
O what can yceld ease to a minde 

Joy in nothing that can finde? 


How are my powres fore-spoke ? What strange 

distaste is this ? 
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is ! 
Come, come delight ! make my dull braine 
Feele once heate of joy againe. 

The lover's teares are sweet, their mover makes 

them so ; 
Proud of a wound the bleeding souldiers grow. 
Poor I alone, dreaming, endure 

Grief that knowes nor cause, nor cure. 

And whence can all this grow ? even from an 

idle minde, 
That no delight in any good can finde. 
Action alone makes the soule blest : 

Vertue dyes with too much rest. 


Why Presumes Third Booke of Ayres 
Thy Pride. < l6l ? ? >- 

W hy presumes thy pride on that that must 

so private be, 
Scarce that it can good be cal'd, tho' it 

seemes best to thee, 
Best of all that Nature fram'd or curious eye 

can see. 


Lyric Poems. 

Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a 

blossome, growes ; 
Which who viewes no more enjoyes than on a 

bush a rose, 
That, by manie's handling, fades : and thou 

art one of those. 

If to one thou shalt prove true and all beside 

Then art thou but one man's good ; which 

yeelds a poore effect : 
For the common 'st good by farre deserves the 

best respect. 

But if for this goodnesse thou thyself wilt 

common make, 
Thou art then not good at all : so thou canst 

no way take 
But to prove the meanest good or else all good 


Be not then of beauty proud, but so her colours 

That they prove not staines to her, that them 

for grace should weare : 
So shalt thou to all more fayre then thou wert 

born appeare. 




O Griefe, O Third Booke of Ayres 

Spite. (rfz 7 i). 

\J griefe, O spite, to see poore Vertue 

Truth far exil'd, False Arte lov'd, Vice ador'd, 
Free Justice sold, worst causes best adorn'd, 

Right cast by Powre, Pittie in vaine implor'd ! 
O who in such an age could wish to live, 
When none can have or hold, but such as give? 

O times ! O men ! to Nature rebels growne, 
Poore in desert, in name rich, proud of shame, 

Wise but in ill ! Your stiles are not your owne, 
Though dearely bought, honour is honest 

Old Stories only, goodnesse now containe, 
And the true wisedome that is just and plaine. 

— /vy/Vvx— 

O Never to be Third Booke of Ayres 
Moved. < i6i 7?)- 

\J NEVER to be moved, 
O beauty unrelenting ! 
Hard hart, too dearely loved ! 
Fond love, too late repenting ! 

Lyric Poems. . 

Why did I dreame of too much blisse ? 

Deceitfull hope was cause of this, 
O heare me speake this, and no more, 
Live you in joy, while I my woes deplore ! 

All comforts despayred 
Distaste your bitter scorning ; 

Great sorrowes unrepayred 
Admit no meane in mourning : 

Dye, wretch, since hope from thee is fled. 

He that must dye is better dead. 
O deare delight, yet ere I dye, 
Some pitty shew, though you reliefe deny! 

— 'AA/v^— 

/^„„J \\T:C„ Third Booke of Ayres 

Good Wife. (i6i7 „._a. h. b. 

W hat is it all that men possess, among them- 
selves conversing? 

Wealth or fame, or some such boast, scarce 
worthy the rehearsing. 

Women only are men's good, with them in 
love conversing. 

If weary, they prepare us rest ; if sick, their 

hand attends us ; 
When with grief our hearts are prest, their 

comfort best befriends us : 
Sweet or sour, they willing go to share what 

fortune sends us. 


What pretty babes with pain they bear, our 

name and form presenting ! 
What we get, how wise they keep ! by sparing, 

wants preventing ; 
Sorting all their household cares to our observed 


All this, of whose large use I sing, in two words 

is expressed : 
Good Wife is the good I praise, if by good 

men possessed ; 
Bad with bad in ill suit well ; but good with 

good live blessed. 

— a/WW- 

Fire that must Third Booke of Ayres 
Flame. (i6i 7 ?).-a.h. b. 

L* ire that must flame is with apt fuel fed, 
Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred. 
How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds ? 
Or can he love on whom no comfort shines ? 

Fair ! I confess there's pleasure in your sight ! 
Sweet ! you have power, I grant, of all delight ! 
But what is all to me, if I have none ? 
Churl, that you are, t'enjoy such wealth alone ! 

Prayers move the heavens but find no grace 

with you ; 
Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view, 
Then will I pray again, hoping to find, 
As well as in your looks, heaven in your mind ! 

Lyric Poems. 

Saint of my heart, Queen of my life and love, 
O let my vows thy loving spirit move ! 
Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain ; 
But with one touch of grace cure all my pain. 

— 'AA/v* — 

thf»<;p Oalrpn Thlrd Booke of A V res 

lKe " (i6i 7 ?).-A. H. B. 

Thrice Toss 
these i 

1 hrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, 
Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair ; 
And thrice three times, tie up this true love's 

And murmur soft "She will, or she will not." 

Go burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue 

These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling 

briar ; 
This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave ; 
That all thy fears and cares, an end may have. 

Then come, you Fairies, dance with me a 

round ! 
Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound ! 
In vain are all the charms I can devise : 
She hath an art to break them with her eyes. 

Be Thou then 
my Beauty 

JDe thou then my Beauty named, 
Since thy will is to be mine ! 

For by that I am enflamed, 
Which on all alike doth shine. 

Others may the light admire, 

I only truly feel the fire. 

But if lofty titles move thee, 

Challenge then a Sovereign's place ! 
Say I honour when I love thee ; 

Let me call thy kindness Grace. 
State and Love things diverse be, 
Yet will we teach them to agree ! 

Or if this be not sufficing ; 

Be thou styled my Goddess then : 
I will love thee, sacrificing ; 

In thine honour, hymns I'll pen. 
To be thine what canst thou more ? 
I'll love thee, serve thee, and adore. 

8 F 

Lyric Poems. 

Fire, Fire, Fire, Th ; rd Bo oke of Ayres 

Pf re J (1617?).— A. H. B. 

F ire, fire, fire, fire ! 

Lo here I burn in such desire 

That all the tears that I can strain 

Out of mine idle empty brain 

Cannot allay my scorching pain. 

Come Trent, and Humber, and fair Thames ! 

Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streams ! 
And if you cannot quench my fire, 
O drown both me and my desire ! 

Fire, fire, fire, fire ! 
There is no hell to my desire. 
See, all the rivers backward fly ! 
And th' Ocean doth his waves deny, 
For fear my heat should drink them dry ! 
Come, heavenly showers, then, pouring down ! 
Come you, that once the world did drown ! 
Some then you spared, but now save all, 
That else must burn, and with me fall ! 

—rA/\JV* — 


O Sweet -p, . , „ , , , 

Ihird Booke of Ayrei 

Delight. (1617?).— a. h. b. 

O sweet delight, O more than human bliss, 

With her to live that ever loving is ; 

To hear her speak, whose words are so well 

That she by them, as they in her are graced : 
Those looks to view, that feast the viewer's eye, 
How blest is he that may so live and die ! 

Such love as this the golden times did know, 
When all did reap, yet none took care to sow ; 
Such love as this an endless summer makes, 
And all distaste from frail affection takes. 
So loved, so blessed, in my beloved am I ; 
Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy ! 

— (\/\/vV. — 

Thus I Resolve. Third IJooke of Avres 

(1617?).— A. H.B. 

1 hus I resolve, and time hath taught me so ; 

Since she is fair and ever kind to me, 
Though she be wild and wanton-like in show, 

Those little stains in youth I will not see. 
That she be constant, heaven I oft implore : 
If prayers prevail not, I can do no more. 

Lyric Poems. 

Palm tree the more you press, the more it 
grows ; 
Leave it alone, it will not much exceed. 
Free beauty if you strive to yoke, you lose : 

And for affection, strange distaste you breed. 
What Nature hath not taught, no Art can 

frame : 
Wild born be wild still, though by force you 

— A/VVv — 

fome O Come Third Booke of Ayres 
tome ' w ^onic. U( -, 17?) _ A HBi 

V^-OMii, 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. 

8 4 


Could My Third Bookc of Ayres 

Heart. (i6i 7 ?).-a.h.b. 

v^ould 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. 


Shall I then „,. . , p , , . 

1 nird tjooke of Ayre* 
Hope. (1617?).— A. H. B. 

Ohall I then hope when faith is fled? 
Can I seek love when hope is gone ? 

Or can I live when love is dead ? 
Poorly he lives, that can love none. 

Lyric Poems. 

Her vows are broke and I am free ; 
She lost her faith in losing me. 

When I compare mine own events, 
When I weigh others' like annoy ; 

All do but heap up discontents 
That on a beauty build their joy. 

Thus I of all complain, since she 
All faith hath lost in losing me. 

So my dear freedom have I gained, 
Through her unkindness and disgrace : 

Yet could I ever live enchained, 
As she my service did embrace. 

But she is changed, and I am free : 

Faith failing her, love died in me. 

— vA/VW— 
Leave rrO- Fourth Booke of Ayres 

longing. (1617?). 

.Leave prolonging thy distresse ! 
All delayes afflict the dying. 
Many lost sighes long 1 spent, to her for mercy 
crying ; 

But now, vain mourning, cease ! 

I'll dye, and mine owne griefes release. 

Thus departing from this light 
To those shades that end all sorrow, 
Yet a small time of complaint, a little breath 
He borrow, 
To tell my once delight 
I dye alone through her despight. 


Respect My Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Faith. (1617?). 

IVESPECT my faith, regard my service past ; 

The hope you vving'd call home to you at last. 

Great prise it is that I in you shall gaine, 

So great for you hath been my losse and paine. 
My wits I spent and time for you alone, 
Observing you and losing all for one. 

Some rais'd to rich estates in this time are, 
That held their hopes to mine inferiour farre : 
Such, scoffing mee, or pittying me, say thus, 
" Had hee not loved, he might have liv'd 
like us." 
O, then, deare sweet, for love and pitties 

My faith reward, and from me scandall 

— «/vVVv~- 
Vaile, LOVe, Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Mine Eyes ! w^i)- 

V aile, Love, mine eyes ! O hide from me 
The plagues that charge the curious minde ! 

If beauty private will not be, 

Suffice it yet that she proves kinde, 

Who can usurp heav'ns light alone. 

Stars were not made to shine on one. 

Lyric Poems. 

Griefs past recure fooles try to heale, 
That greater harmes on lesse inflict, 

The pure offend by too much zeale ; 
Affection should not be too strict. 

Hee that a true embrace will finde, 

To beauties faults must still be blinde. 


Love Me or Founh Booke of Ayres 

Not. (1617?)- 

J— iOVE me or not, love her I must or dye ; 
Leave me or not, follow her, needs must I. 
O that her grace would my wisht comforts give ! 
How rich in her, how happy should I live ! 

All my desire, all my delight should be, 
Her to enjoy, her to unite to mee : 
Envy should cease, her would I love alone : 
Who loves by lookes, is seldome true to one. 

Could I enchant, and that it lawfull were, 
Her would I charme softly that none should 

But love enforc'd rarely yeelds firme content ; 
So would I love that neyther should repent. 

What Meanes Fourth Booke of Ayres 
this Folly. i*W)- 

W HAT meanes this folly, now to brave it so, 

And then to use submission ? 
Is that a friend that straight can play the foe ? 

Who loves on such condition ? 

Though Bryars breede Roses, none the Bryar 
affect ; 

But with the flowre are pleased. 
Love onely loves delight and soft respect : 

He must not be diseased. 

These thorny passions spring from barren 

Or such as neede much weeding. 
Love onely loves delight and soft respect, 

But sends them not home bleeding. 

Command thy humour, strive to give content, 
And shame not love's profession. 

Of kindnesse never any could repent 
That made choyce with discretion. 


Lyric Poems. 

Deare, if I with 
Guile. (1617 1) 

Fourth Booke of Ayres 

LJeare, if I with guile would guild a true 

Heaping flattries that in heart were never 
Tneant : 

Easely could I then obtaine 

What now in vaine I force ; 
Falshood much doth gaine, 
Truth yet holds the better course. 

Love forbid that through dissembling I should 

Or in praysing you, myselfe of truth deprive ! 
Let not your high thoughts debase 

A simple truth in me : 
Great is beauties grace, 
Truth is yet as fayre as she ! 

Prayse is but the winde of pride, if it exceedes ; 
Wealth, pris'd in itselfe, no outward value 

Fayre you are, and passing fayre ; 

You know it, and 'tis true: 
Yet let none despayre 

But to finde as fayre as you. 

— */vWv- 


O Love, where Fourth Booke of Ayres 

are thy Shafts. ( i6i 7 ?)• 

\J love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, 

and thy Bow ? 
Shall my wounds onely weepe, and he unpaged 

Be just, and strike him to, that dares con- 

temne thee so ! 

No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose 

thee blinde ; 
So fayre they levell when the marke they list 

to finde : 
Then, strike, O strike the heart that beares 

the cruell minde ! 

Is my fond sight deceived ? or doe I Cupid spye, 
Close ayming at his breast, by whom despis'd, 

I dye? 
Shoot home, sweet Love, and wound him, 

that hee may not flye ! 

O then we both will sit in some unhaunted 

And heale each other's wound which Love 

hath justly made : 
O hope, O thought too vaine ! how quickly 

dost thou fade ! 

Lyric Poems. 

At large he wanders still : his heart is free 

from paine ; 
While secret sighes I spend, and teares, but 

all in vaine. 
Yet, Love, thou know'st, by right, I should 

not thus complaine. 

Beauty is but Fourth Booke of Ayres 

a Painted Hell. Wwi)- 

JDeauty is but a painted hell : 

Aye me, aye me ! 
Shee wounds them that admire it, 
Shee kils them that desire it. 

Give her pride but fuell, 

No fire is more cruell. 

Pittie from ev'ry heart is fled : 

Aye me, aye me ! 
Since false desire could borrow 
Teares of dissembled sorrow, 

Constant vowes turne truthlesse, 
Love cruell, Beauty ruthlesse. 

Sorrow can laugh, and Fury sing : 
Aye me, aye me ! 

My raving griefes discover 

I liv'd too true a lover. 

The first step to madnesse 
Is the excessc of sadnesse. 


Are You, what 

your Faire „ . TJ . 

" rourth booke ol Ayres 

Lookes (1617?). 

Expresse ? 

/\re you, what your faire lookes expresse? 

O then be kinde ! 
From law of nature they digresse 

Whose forme sutes not their minde : 
Fairnesse seene in th' outward shape, 
Is but th' inward beauties Ape. 

Eyes that of earth are mortall made, 

What can they view? 
All's but a colour or a shade, 

And neyther alwayes true : 
Reason's sight, that is eterne, 
Ev'n the substance can discerne. 

Soul is the Man : for who will so 

The body name ? 
And to that power all grace we owe 

That deckes our living frame. 
What, or how had housen bin, 
But for them that dwell therein ? 

Love in the bosome is begot, 

Not in the eyes ; 
No beauty makes the eye more hot. 

Her flames the spright surprise : 
Let our loving mindes then meete, 
For pure meetings are most sweet. 

Lyric Poems. 

Since She, ev'll Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Shee. (l6l7?) - 

Oince she, ev'n shee, for whom I liv'd, 
Sweet she by Fate from me is torne, 

Why am not I of sence depriv'd, 
Forgetting I was ever borne ? 

Why should I languish, hating light? 

Better to sleepe an endlesse night. 

Be't eyther true, or aptly fain'd, 
That some of Lethe's water write, 

"Tis their best med'cine that are pain'd 
All thought to loose of past delight. 

O would my anguish vanish so ! 

Happy are they that neyther know. 

— */vVW"- 
I Must Com- Fourth Booke of Ayres 

plain. (1617?). 

1 MUST complain, yet doe enjoy my love ; 

She is too faire, too rich in lovely parts : 
Thence is my grief, for Nature, while she strove 

With all her graces and divinest Arts 
To form her too too beautifull of hue, 
Shee had no leasure left to make her true. 


Should I, agriev'd, then wish shee were lesse 
fayre ? 
That were repugnant to mine owne desires. 
Shee is admir'd, new lovers still repayre, 

That kindles daily love's forgetfull fires. 
Rest, jealous thoughts, and thus resolve at 

Shee hath more beauty than becomes the chast. 

— \vvw- 

Fourtli Dooke of Ayres 

Her Fayre In- 
flaming Eyes. C1617 ?). 

liER fayre inflaming eyes, 

Chiefe authors of my cares, 
I prai'd in humblest wise 
With grace to view my teares : 

They beheld me broad awake, 
But, alasse, no ruth would take. 

Her lips with kisses rich, 

And words of fayre delight, 
I fayrely did beseech, 
To pitty my sad plight : 

But a voyce from them brake forth, 
As a whirlewind from the North. 

Then to her hands I fled, 

That can give heart and all ; 
To them I long did plead, 
And loud for pitty call : 

But, alas, they put mee off, 
With a touch worse then a scoff. 


Lyric Poems. 

So backe I straight return'd, 

And at her breast I knock'd ; 

Where long in vain I mourn'd, 

Her heart so fast was lock'd : 

Not a word could passage finde, 
For a Rocke inclos'd her minde. 

Then downe my pray'rs made way 

To those most comely parts, 
That make her flye or stay, 
As they affect deserts : 

But her angry feete, thus mov'd, 
Fled with all the parts I lov'd. 

Yet fled they not so fast, 

As her enraged minde : 
Still did I after haste, 
Still was I left behinde ; 

Till I found 'twas to no end, 
With a Spirit to contend. 


Tume all Thy Fourth Booke of Ayres 

Thoughts. < l6l 7 ? )- 

1 URNE all thy thoughts to eyes, 
Turne al thy haires to eares, 
Change all thy friends to spies, 
And all thy joyes to feares : 
True Love will yet be free, 
In spite of Jealousie. 
9 6 


Turne darknesse into day, 
Conjectures into truth, 
Beleeve what th' envious say, 
Let age interpret youth : 

True love will yet be free, 
In spite of Jealousie. 

Wrest every word and looke, 
Racke ev'ry hidden thought, 
Or fish with golden hooke ; 
True love cannot be caught. 
For that will still be free, 
In spite of Jealousie. 



Your Faire 

Fourth Booke of Ayres 
(1617 ?)■ 

Y our faire lookes urge my desire : 

Calme it, sweet, with love ! 
Stay ; O why will you retire ? 

Can you churlish prove ? 
If Love may perswade, 

Love's pleasures, deare, deny not : 
Here is a grove secur'd with shade : 

O then be wise, and flye not. 

Hark, the Birds delighted sing, 

Yet our pleasure sleepes : 
Wealth to none can profit bring, 

Which the miser keepes. 
O come, while we may, 

Let's chayne Love with embraces ; 
Wee have not all times time to stay, 

Nor safety in all places. 

What ill finde you now in this, 

Or who can complaine ? 
There is nothing done arnisse 

That breedes no man payne. 
'Tis now flow'ry May ; 

But ev'n in cold December, 
When all these leaves are blowne away, 

This place shall I remember. 


And would You 
Faine the 
Reason Knowe. 

Faine the Rosseter's Booke of 

Ayres. Part II. (1601). 

And would you faine the reason knowe 
Why my sad eies so often flow ? 
My heart ebs joy, when they doe so, 
And loves the moone by whom they go. 

And will you aske why pale I looke ? 
'Tis not with poring on my booke : 
My mistris' cheeke my bloud hath tooke, 
For her mine ovvne hath me forsooke. 

Do not demaund why I am mute : 
Love's silence doth all speech confute. 
They set the noat, then tune the Lute ; 
Herts frame their thoughts, then toongs their 

Doe not admire why I admire : 
My fever is no other's fire : 
Each severall heart hath his desire ; 
Els proof is false, and truth a lier. 

If why I love you should see cause : 
Love should have forme like other lawes, 
But fancie pleads not by the clawes : 
'Tis as the sea, still vext with flawes. 

Lyric Poems. 

No fault upon my love espie ; 
For you perceive not with my eie ; 
My pallate to your tast may lie, 
Yet please itselfe deliciously. 

Then let my sufferance be mine owne ; 
Sufficeth it these reasons showne ; 
Reason and love are ever knowne 
To fight till both be overthrowne. 

— vvVVv— 

Long have Rosseter's Booke of 

Mine EieS. Ayres. Part II. (1601). 

.Long have mine eies gaz'd with delight, 
Conveying hopes unto my soule ; 

In nothing happy, but in sight 
Of her, that doth my sight controule : 

But now mine eies must loose their light. 

My object now must be the aire ; 

To write in water words of fire ; 
And teach sad thoughts how to despaire : 

Desert must quarrel with desire. 
All were appeas'd were she not faire. 

For all my comfort, this I prove, 
That Venus on the Sea was borne : 

If Seas be calme, then doth she love ; 
If stormes arise, I am forlorne ; 

My doubtfull hopes, like wind doe move. 

If I Hope, I 

' Rosseter's Booke of 

Feare, I Faint Ayres. Partii. (1601). 
and Die. 

If I hope, I pine ; if I feare, I faint and die ; 
So betweene hope and fear, I desp'rat lie, 
Looking for joy to heaven, whence it should 

But hope is blinde, joy deafe, and I am 


Yet I speake and crie ; but, alas, with words 

of wo : 
And joy conceives not them that murmure so. 
He that the eares of joy will ever pearse, 
Must sing glad noates, or speake in happier 



Rosseter's Booke of 
TraitorOUS Ayres. Part II. (1601). 

—A. H. B. 

Shall Then a 



Ohall then a traitorous kiss or a smile 

All my delights unhappily beguile ? 

Shall the vow of feigned love receive so rich 

When true service dies neglected, and wants 

his due reward ? 




Lyric Poems. 

Deeds meritorious soon be forgot, 

But one offence no time can ever blot ; 

Every day it is renewed, and every night it 

And with bloody streams of sorrow drowns all 

our better deeds. 

Beauty is not by desert to be won ; 
Fortune hath all that is beneath the sun. 
Fortune is the guide of Love, and both of them 

be blind : 
All their ways are full of errors, which no true 

feet can find. 

No Grave for A ]5ooke of Ayres , 

Woe. PartII.(i6oi).— A. H. B. 

i\ o grave for woe, yet earth my watery tears 
devours ; 

Sighs want air, and burnt desires kind pity's 
showers : 

Stars hold their fatal course, my joys pre- 
venting : 

The earth, the sea, the air, the fire, the heavens 
vow my tormenting. 

Yet still I live, and waste my weary days in 

And with woful tunes adorn despairing moans. 


Night still prepares a more displeasing 

morrow ; 
My day is night, my life my death, and all 

but sense of sorrow. 

— WW> 

A Booke of Ayres. 

If I Urge My 

Kind Desires. Partii. (i6oi).-a.h.b 

1 f I urge my kind desires, 
She unkind doth them reject ; 
Women's hearts are painted fires 
To deceive them that affect. 
I alone love's fires include ; 
She alone doth them delude. 

She hath often vowed her love ; 
But, alas ! no fruit I find. 
That her fires are false I prove, 
Yet in her no fault 1 find : 
I was thus unhappy born, 
And ordained to be her scorn. 

Yet if human care or pain, 
May the heavenly order change, 
She will hate her own disdain, 
And repent she was so strange : 
For a truer heart than I, 
Never lived or loved to die. 

Lyric Poems. 

UnleSS there Rosseter's Boolce of 

,-. . Ayres. Part II. (c6oi). 

were Consent. _ A , H . b. 

U nless there were consent 'twixt hell and 
That grace and wickedness should be com- 
I cannot make thee and thy beauties even : 

Thy face is heaven, and torture in thy mind, 
For more than worldly bliss is in thy eye 
And hellish torture in thy mind doth lie. 

A thousand Cherubins fly in her looks, 
And hearts in legions melt upon their view : 

But gorgeous covers wall up filthy books ; 
Be it sin to say that so your eyes do you : 

But sure your mind adheres not with your 

For what they promise, that your heart denies. 

But, O, lest I religion should misuse, 
Inspire me thou, that ought'st thyself to 
(Since skilless readers, reading do abuse), 
What inward meaning outward sense doth 
show : 
For by thy eyes and heart, chose and con- 
I waver, whether saved or condemned. 


If She Forsake 

If she forsake me, I must die : 

Shall I tell her so? 
Alas, then straight she will reply, 

" No, no, no, no, no ! " 
If I disclose my desperate state, 
She will but make sport thereat, 

And more unrelenting grow. 

What heart can long such pains abide ? 

Fie upon this love ! 
I would venture far and wide, 

If it would remove. 
But Love will still my steps pursue, 
I cannot his ways eschew : 

Thus still helpless hopes I prove. 

I do my love in lines commend, 

But, alas, in vain ; 
The costly gifts that I do send, 

She returns again : 
Thus still is my despair procured, 
And her malice more assured : 

Then come, Death, and end my pain ! 

Lyric Poems. 

With Spotless 

Song from the " Masque 
at the Marriage of the 
Lord Hayes ; Twelfth 
Night, 1606." 

" AH this time of pro- 
cession the six cornets, 
and six chapel voices 
sung a solemn motet of 
six parts made upon 
these words." 


ith spotless minds now mount we to the 

Of single chastity. 
The root is temperance grounded deep, 
Which the cold-juiced earth doth steep : 

Water it desires alone, 

Other drink it thirsts for none : 
Therewith the sober branches it doth feed, 

Which though they fruitless be, 
Yet comely leaves they breed, 

To beautify the tree. 
Cynthia protectress is, and for her sake 
We this grave procession make. 
Chaste eyes and ears, pure hearts and voices, 
Are graces wherein Phoebe most rejoices. 



My Sweetest 
Lesbia, let us 
Live and Love. 

Lesbia, let US Rosseter's Booke of 

Ayres. Part I. 

lVlY sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love ; 
And though the sager sort our deedes reprove, 
Let us not way them : heaven's great lampes 

doe dive 
Into their west, and strait again revive : 
But soone as once set is our little light, 
Then must we sleepe one ever-during night. 

If all would lead their lives in love like mee, 
Then bloudie swords and armour should not 

No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleepes should 

Unles alar'me came from the campe of love : 
But fooles do live, and wast their little light, 
And seeke with paine their ever-during night. 

When timely death my life and fortune ends, 
Let not my hearse be vext with mourning 

friends ; 
But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come 
And with sweet pastimes grace my happie 

tombe : 
And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light, 
And crown with love my ever-during night. 

Lyric Poems. 

Let Him that Rosseter's Booke of 

will be Free. A y res - Partn - ( i6 °^- 

JL/ET him that will be free and keep his hart 

from care, 
Retir'd alone, remaine where no discomforts 

For when the eie doth view his griefe, or hap- 

lesse eare his sorrow heares, 
Th' impression still in him abides, and ever 

in one shape appeares. 

Forget thy griefes betimes ; long sorrowe 

breedes long paine, 
For joie farre fled from men, will not returne 

againe ; 
O happie is the soule which heaven ordained 

to live in endles peace ! 
His life is a pleasing dreame, and everie houre 

his joyes encrease. 

You heavie sprites, that love in sever'd shades 

to dwell, 
That nurse despaire and dreame of unrelenting 

Come sing this happie song, and learne of me 

the Arte of true content ! 
Loade not your guiltie soules with wrong, and 

heaven then will soone relent. 



Rosseter's Booke of 

What is a Day. Ayres. Partii. 0601). 

—A. H. B. 

W hat is a day, what is a year 
Of vain delight and pleasure? 

Like to a dream it endless dies, 
And from us like a vapour flies : 

And this is all the fruit that we find, 
Which glory in worldly treasure. 

He that will hope for true delight, 
With virtue must be graced ; 

Sweet folly yields a bitter taste, 
Which ever will appear at last : 

But if we still in virtue delight, 
Our souls are in heaven placed. 


Never Weather- 
beaten Saile _. . ., „ 

Divine and Morall 

more willing Songs06i 3 ?). 
Bent to Shore. 

IN ever weatherbeaten Saile more willing 

bent to shore, 
Never tyred Pilgrim's limbs affected slumber 

Then my weary spright now longs to flye out 

of my troubled brest. 
O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my 

soule to rest ! 


Lyric Poems. 

Ever blooming are the joyes of Heav'n's high 

Cold age deafes not there our eares, nor vapour 

dims our eyes : 
Glory there the sun outshines ; whose beames 

the blessed onely see. 
O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my 

spright to thee ! 

— v\A/Vv~ 

Tune Thy 

Musicke to Thy So ^f e and Mora11 


1 une thy Musicke to thy hart, 
Sing thy joy with thankes, and so thy sorrow: 

Though Devotion needes not Art, 
Sometime of the poore the rich may borrow. 

Strive not yet for curious wayes : 
Concord pleaseth more, the lesse 'tis strained ; 

Zeale affects not outward prayse, 
Onely strives to show a love unfained. 

Love can wondrous things effect, 
Sweetest Sacrifice, all wrath appeasing ; 

Love the highest doth respect ; 
Love alone to him is ever pleasing, 

Loe, when 
Backe Mine 

Divine and 
Songs (1613 ?). 


J_/OE, when backe mine eye, 

Pilgrim-like, I cast, 
What fearefull wayes I spye, 
Which, blinded, I securely past ! 

But now heav'n hath drawne 

From my browes that night ; 
As when the day doth dawne, 
So cleares my long imprison'd sight. 

Straight the caves of hell, 

Drest with flowres I see : 
Wherein false pleasures dwell, 
That, winning most, most deadly be. 

Throngs of masked Feinds, 
Wing'd like Angels, fiye : 
Ev'n in the gates of Friends 
In faire disguise blacke dangers lye. 

Straight to Heav'n I rais'd 

My restored sight, 
And with loud voyce I prais'd 
The Lord of ever-during light. 

Lyric Poems. 

And since I had stray'd 

From his wayes so wide, 
His grace I humbly pray'd 
Henceforth to be my guard and guide. 

— »/vWv — 

Lift up to 

Heav'n, Sad Divine and Morall 

Wretch, Thy songs ( t6i 3 ?). 
heavy Spright ! 

.Lift up to heav'n, sad wretch, thy heavy 

spright ! 
What though thy sinnes, thy due destruction 

threat ? 
The Lord exceedes in mercy as in might ; 
His ruth is greater, though thy crimes be great. 
Repentance needs not feare the heav'n's just rod, 
It stays ev'n thunder in the hand of God. 

With cheerfull voyce to him then cry for grace ! 

Thy Faith, and fainting Hope, with Prayer re- 

Remorce for all that truely mourn hath place ; 

Not God, but men of him themselves deprive : 

Strive then, and hee will help ; call him, hee'll 
heare : 

The Sonne needes not the Father's fury feare. 


As by the 
Streames c 

Rahilnn cript from Psalm cxxxvii. 

Divine and Morall 
StreameS 01 Songs(i6i 3 ?). ATrans- 

/tls by the streames of Babilon 
Farre from our native soyle we sat, 
Sweet Sion, thee we thought upon, 
And ev'ry thought a teare begat. 

Aloft the trees, that spring up there, 
Our silent Harps wee pensive hung : 
Said they that captiv'd us, Let's heare 
Some song which you in Sion sung ! 

Is then the song of our God fit 
To be prophan'd in forraine land ? 
O Salem, thee when I forget, 
Forget his skill may my right hand ! 

Fast to the roofe cleave may my tongue, 
If mindelesse I of thee be found ! 
Or if, when all my joyes are sung, 
Jerusalem be not the ground ! 

Remember, Lord, how Edom's race 
Cryed in Jerusalem's sad day : 
Hurle downe her wals, her towres deface, 
And stone by stone all levell lay ! 

Curst Babel's seede ! for Salem's sake 
Just ruine yet for thee remaines ! 
Blest shall they be thy babes that take 
And 'gainst the stones dash out their braines ! 
8 H 113 

Lyric Poems. 

Sing a Song of Divine and Mora11 

Songs (1613 ?). A Trans- 


! cript from the Psalms. 

OiNG a song of joy ! 

Prayse our God with mirth ! 
His flocke who can destroy? 
Is hee not Lord of heav'n and earth? 

Sing wee then secure, 

Tuning well our strings ! 
With voyce, as Eccho pure, 
Let us renowne the King of Kings ! 

First who taught the day 
From the East to rise ? 
Whom doth the Sunne obey, 
When in the Seas his glory dyes ? 

He the Starres directs 

That in order stand : 
Who, heav'n and earth protects, 
But hee that fram'd them with his hand ? 

Angels round attend, 

Wayting on his will ; 
Arm'd millions hee doth send 
To ayde the good, or plague the ill. 


All that dread his name, 
And his Hests observe, 
His arme will shield from shame : 
Their steps from truth shall never swerve. 

Let us then rejoyce, 

Sounding loud his prayse : 
So will hee heare our voyce 
And blesse on earth our peacefull dayes. 

Seeke the Lord, 

and 111 his Divine and Morall 

,, T . „ Songs (1613?). 

Waies rersever. 

Oeeke the Lord, and in his waies persever ! 
O faint not, but as Eagles flye, 
For his steepe hill is high ; 
Then striving gaine the top, and triumph ever ! 

When with glory there thy browes are crowned, 
New joyes so shall abound in thee, 
Such sights thy soule shall see 

That worldly thoughts shall by their beames 
be drowned. 

Farewell World, thou masse of meere con- 
fusion ! 
False light, with many shadowes dinim'd ! 
Old Witch, with new foyles trimm'd ! 
Thou deadly sleepe of soule, and charm'd 
illusion ! 

Lyric Poems. 

I the King will seeke, of Kings adored, 
Spring of light, tree of grace and bliss, 
Whose fruit so sov'raigne is, 

That all who taste it are from death restored. 

— a/Wv. — 

Lighten, heavy 

Hart thv Divine and Morall 

r, .', Songs (1613?). 


.Lighten, heavy hart, thy spright, 

The joyes recall that thence are fled ; 
Yeeld thy brest some living light ; 

The man that nothing doth is dead. 
Tune thy temper to these sounds, 

And quicken so thy joylesse minde ; 
Sloth the worst and best confounds : 

It is the ruine of mankinde. 

From her cave rise all distasts, 

Which unresolv'd Despaire pursues ; 
Whom, soone after, Violence hasts, 

Herselfe, ungratefull to abuse. 
Skies are clear'd with stirring windes, 

Th' unmoved water moorish growes ; 
Ev'ry eye much pleasure Andes 

To view a streame that brightly flowes. 



Most Sweet 

and Pleasing Divine and Morall 

are Thy Wayes, Son gS (i6i 3 ?). 



.ost sweet and pleasing are thy wayes, O 
Like meadowes deckt with Christall streames 
and flowers : 
Thy paths no foote prophane hath ever trod, 
Nor hath the proud man rested in thy 
bowers : 
There lives no Vultur, no devouring Beare, 
But only doves and lambs are harbor' d there. 

The Wolfe his young ones to their prey doth 
The foxe his Cubbes with false deceit endues ; 
The Lyon's whelpe suckes from his Damme 
his pride ; 
In hers the Serpent malice doth infuse : 
The darksome Desart all such beasts contains, 
Not one of them in Paradice remaynes. 

— ^VWv— 

Wise Men. 


Divine and 

Songs (1613?). 

ise men patience never want ; 

Good men pitty cannot hide ; 
Feeble spirits onely vant 

Of revenge, the poorest pride : 
Hee alone, forgive that can, 
Beares the true soule of a man. 


Some there are, debate that seeke, 
Making trouble their content, 

Happy if they wrong the meeke, 
Vexe them that to peace are bent 

Such undoe the common tye 

Of mankinde, societie. 

Kindnesse growne is, lately, colde ; 

Conscience hath forgot her part ; 
Blessed times were knowne of old, 

Long ere Law became an Art : 
Shame deterr'd, not Statutes then, 
Honest love was law to men. 

Deeds from love, and words, that flow, 
Foster like kinde Aprill showres ; 

In the warme Sunne all things grow, 
Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowres 

All so thrives his gentle rayes, 

Whereon humane love displayes. 


View me, Lord, 

3, Worke Of Divine and Morall 

,-p, . Songs. 

I nine. 

V iew me, Lord, a worke of Thine : 
Shall I then lye drown'd in night ? 
Might Thy grace in mee but shine, 
I should seeme made all of light. 

But my soul still surfets so 
On the poysoned baytes of sinne, 
That I strange and ugly growe, 
All is darke, and foule within. 

Cleanse mee, Lord, that I may kneele 
At Thine altar, pure and white : 
They that once Thy mercies feele, 
Gaze no more on earth's delight. 

Worldly joyes, like shadowes, fade 
When the heav'nly light appeares ; 
But the cov'nants Thou hast made, 
Endlesse, know nor dayes nor yeares. 

In Thy Word, Lord, is my trust, 
To Thy mercies fast I flye ; 
Though I am but clay and dust, 
Yet Thy grace can lift me high. 


Lyric Poems. 

De Profundis. ° ivi ~ ^ Mora11 

Songs (1613 ?). 

vJut of my soule's depth to Thee my cryes 

have sounded : 
Let Thine eares my plaints receive, on just feare 

Lord, shouldst Thou weigh our faults, who's 

not confounded ? 

But with grace Thou censur'st Thine when they 

have erred, 
Therefore shall Thy blessed Name be lov'd and 

Ev'n to Thy throne my thoughts and eyes are 


Thee alone my hopes attend, on Thee relying ; 
In thy sacred word I'le trust, to Thee fast flying, 
Long ere the Watch shall breake, the morne 

In the mercies of our God who live secured, 
May of full redemption rest in Him assured ; 
Their sinne-sicke soules by Him shall be recured. 



Author of Divine and Morall 

Light. Songs (lSl3 ?); 

Author of light, revive my dying sprite ! 
Redeeme it from the snares of all-confounding 

night ! 
Lord, light me to Thy blessed way ! 
For blinde with worldly vaine desires, I wander 

as a stray. 
Sunne and Moone, Starres and underlights 

I see ; 
But all their glorious beames are mists and 

darknes, being compar'd to Thee. 

Fountaine of health, my soule's deepe wounds 

recure ! 
Sweet showres of pitty raine, wash my unclean- 

nesse pure ! 
One drop of Thy desired grace 
The faint and fading heart can raise, and in joy's 

bosome place. 
Sinne and Death, Hell and tempting Fiends 

may rage, 
But God his owne will guard, and their sharp 

paines and griefe in time asswage. 


Lyric Poems. 

Come, let us . n , . . 

A Uooke of Ayres 
Sound. (1601). Parti. 


/OME, let us sound with melody the praises 

Of the King's King, th' omnipotent Creator, 

Author of number, that hath all the world in 

Harmonie framed. 

Heav'n is his throne perpetually shining, 

His devine power and glorie thence he thunders, 

One in all, and all still in one abiding, 

Both Father and Sonne. 

O sacred sprite invisible, eternall, 
Ev'rywhere, yet unlimited, that all things 
Can'st in one moment penetrate, revive me, 
O holy Spirit ! 

Rescue, O rescue me from earthly darknes, 
Banish hence all these elementall objects, 
Guide my soule, that thirsts, to the lively Foun- 

Of thy devinenes ! 

Cleanse my soule, O God, thy bespotted Image, 
Altered with sinne so that heav'nly purenes 
Cannot acknowledge me, but in thy mercies, 

O Father of grace ! 

But when once thy beams do remove my dark- 
O then I'le shine forth as an Angell of light, 
And record, with more than an earthly voice, Thy 
Infinite honours. 


AllLookesbe DIvine and Morall 

Pale. Songs (1613 ?). 

/xll lookes be pale, harts cold as stone, 
For Hally now is dead, and gone : 

Hally in whose sight, 
Most sweet sight, 

All the earth late tooke delight. 
Ev'ry eye, weepe, with niee ! 
Joyes drown'd in tears must be. 

His Iv'ry skin, his comely hayre, 

His Rosie cheekes so cleare, and faire, 

Eyes that once did grace 
His bright face, 

Now in him all want their place. 
Eyes and hearts weepe with mee, 
For who so kind as hee? 

His youth was like an Aprill flowre, 
Adorn'd with beauty, love, and powre ; 

Glory strow'd his way, 
Whose wreaths gay 

Now are all turn'd to decay. 
Then againe, weepe with mee, 
None feele more cause then wee. 

No more may his wisht sight returne, 
His golden Lampe no more can burne ; 
Quencht is all his flame ; 

His hop't fame 
Now hath left him nought but name. 
For him all weepe with mee, 
Since more him none shall see. 

Lyric Poems. 

Time, that Son s added t0 the 

j , " Masque at the Lord 

L-.eadeS. Hayes' Marriage, 1606." 

1 ime, that leades the fatal round, 
Hath made his centre in our ground, 

With swelling seas embraced ; 
And there at one stay he rests, 
And with the Fates keeps holy feasts, 
With pomp and pastime graced. 
Light Cupids there do dance and Venus sweetly 

With heavenly notes tuned to sound of silver 

strings : 
Their songs are all of joy, no sign of sorrow 

But all as starres glist'ring fair and blithe appear. 


r\ From Richard Alison's 

What if a Day. An Hour's Recreation in 
Music, 1606.— A. H. B. 

W hat if a day, or a month, or a year 
Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet con- 

tentings ? 
Cannot a chance of a night or an hour 
Cross thy desires with as many sad tormentings ? 


Fortune, Honour, Beauty, Youth 
Are but blossoms dying ; 
Wanton Pleasure, doting Love, 
Are but shadows flying. 
All our joys are but toys, 
Idle thoughts deceiving ; 
None hath power of an hour 
In our lives' bereaving. 

Earth's but a point to the world, and a man 
Is but a point to the world's compared centre : 
Shall then a point of a point be so vain 
As to triumph in a silly point's adventure ? 
All is hazard that we have, 
There is nothing biding ; 
Days of pleasure are like streams 
Through fair meadows gliding. 
Weal and woe, time doth go, 
Time is never turning : 
Secret fates guide our states, 
Both in mirth and mourning. 


Sweet, Come 
Again ! 

A Booke of Ayres 
(1601). Part II. 

OWEET, come again ! 
Your happy sight, so much desired, 
Since you from hence are now retired, 

1 seek in vain : 

Still must I mourn 
And pine in longing pain, 
Till you, my life's delight, again 

Vouchsafe your wished return. 

If true desire, 
Or faithful vow of endless love, 
Thy heart inflamed may kindly move 

With equal fire ; 

O then my joys, 
So long distraught, shall rest, 
Reposed soft in thy chaste breast, 

Exempt from all annoys. 

You had the power 

My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain, 
You first did hear my love speak plain ! 

A child before, 

Now it is grown 
Confirmed, do you it keep, 
And let it safe in your bosom sleep, 

There ever made your own ! 


And till we meet, 

Teach absence inward art to find, 

Both to disturb and please the mind. 
Such thoughts are sweet : 
And such remain 

In hearts whose flames are true ; 

Then such will I retain, till you 
To me return again. 

Reprove not Rosseter. Part II. 

Love (1601).— A. H. B. 

Ivepkove not love, though fondly thou hast 

Greater hopes by loving : 
Love calms ambitious spirits, from their breasts 

Danger oft removing : 
Let lofty humours mount up on high, 

Down again like to the wind, 
While private thoughts, vowed to love, 

More peace and pleasure find. 

Love and sweet beauty makes the stubborn 
And the coward fearless ; 
The wretched miser's care to bounty turns, 

Cheering all things cheerless. 
Love chains the earth and heaven, 
Turns the spheres, guides the years in end- 
less peace : 
The flowery earth through his power 
Receives her due increase. 

Lyric Poems. 

The Golden Rosseter. Part II. 

Mean. (i6oi).-a. h. b. 

1 HOUGH far from joy, my sorrows are as far, 
And I both between ; 
Not too low, nor yet too high 
Above my reach, would I be seen. 
Happy is he that so is placed, 
Not to be envied nor to be disdained or dis- 

The higher trees, the more storms they endure ; 
Shrubs be trodden down : 
But the Mean, the Golden Mean, 
Doth only all our fortunes crown : 
Like to a stream that sweetly slideth 
Through the flowery banks, and still in the 
midst his course guideth. 

— v/vVV- 

Cruel Laura. Rosseter. Part II. (1601). 

iTlYE me ! that love should Nature's work 

accuse ! 
Where cruel Laura still her beauty views, 
River, or cloudy jet, or crystal bright, 
Are all but servants of herself, delight. 

Yet her deformed thoughts, she cannot see ; 
And that's the cause she is so stern to me. 
Virtue and duty can no favour gain : 
A grief, O death ! to live and love in vain. 


Had I Foreseen. <*££*.»* 

lVl y love hath vowed he will forsake me, 

And I am already sped ; 
Far other promise he did make me 

When he had my maidenhead. 
If such danger be in playing 

And sport must to earnest turn, 
I will go no more a-maying. 

Had I foreseen what is ensued, 
And what now with pain I prove, 

Unhappy then I had eschewed 
This unkind event of love : 

Maids foreknow their own undoing, 
But fear naught till all is done, 

When a man alone is wooing. 

Dissembling wretch, to gain thy pleasure, 
What didst thou not vow and swear? 

So didst thou rob me of the treasure 
Which so long I held so dear. 

Now thou provest to me a stranger : 
Such is the vile guise of men 

When a woman is in danger. 

That heart is nearest to misfortune 
That will trust a feigned tongue ; 

When flatt'ring men our loves importune 
They intend us deepest wrong. 

If this shame of love's betraying 
But this once I cleanly shun, 

I will go no more a-maying. 
8 i 129 

Lyric Poems. 

Though Your Light Conceits of 

Strangenesse. Lovers. 

1 hough your strangenesse frets my hart, 
Yet may not I complaine : 
You perswade me, 'tis but Art, 
That secret love must faine. 
If another you affect, 
'Tis but a shew, t'avoid suspect : 
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing. 

Your wisht sight if I desire, 
Suspitions you pretend : 
Causelesse you yourselfe retire, 
While I in vaine attend. 
This a Lover whets, you say, 
Still made more eager by delay. 
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing. 

When another holds your hand, 
You sweare I hold your hart : 
When my Rivals close doe stand, 
And I sit farre apart, 
I am neerer yet then they, 
Hid in your bosome, as you say. 
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing. 

Would my Rival then I were, 
Some els your secret friend : 
So much lesser should I feare, 
And not so much attend. 


They enjoy you, ev'ry one, 
Yet I must seeme your friend alone. 
Is this faire excusing ? O no, all is abusing. 

Kinde are Her ™ . . p , , . 

third Booke of Ayres 

Answeres. (1617?). 

Ivinde are her answeres, 

But her performance keeps no da)' ; 

Breaks time, as dancers 

From their own Musicke when they stray : 
All her free favors and smooth words, 

Wing my hopes in vaine. 
O did ever voice so sweet but only fain ? 

Can true love yeeld such delay, 

Converting joy to pain ? 

Lost is our freedome, 

When we submit to women so : 

Why doe wee neede them 
When in their best they worke our woe ? 

There is no wisedome 

Can alter ends by Fate prefixt. 
O why is the good of man with evill mixt ? 

Never were dayes yet cal'd two, 

But one night went betwixt. 

-^VW- — 

Dance now and 

" A song and dance of 
six, two Keepers, two 
Robin - Hood men, the 
fantastic Traveller and 
the Cynic." From the 
" Masque given by Lord 
Knowles 1 '^^). A.H.B. 


"ance now and sing ; the joy and love we 
Let cheerful voices and glad gestures show : 

The Queen of grace is she whom we receive : 

Honour and state are her guides, 

Her presence they can never leave. 
Then in a stately sylvan form salute 

Her ever-flowing grace ; 
Fill all the woods with echoed welcomes, 

And strew with flowers this place ; 
Let ev'ry bough and plant fresh blossoms 

And all the air refine : 
Let pleasure strive to please our goddess, 

For she is all divine. 


Yet once again let us our measures move, 
And with sweet notes record our joyful love. 
An object more divine none ever had : 
Beauty, and heav'n-born worth, 
Mixt in perfection never fade. 


Then with a dance triumphant let us sing 

Her high advanced praise, 
And ev'n to heav'n our gladsome welcomes 

With wings of music raise ; 
Welcome, O welcome, ever-honoured Queen, 

To this now-blessed place ! 
That grove, that bower, that house is happy 

Which you vouchsafe to grace. 

— »a/Wv— 

A song of a treble and 
bass, sung by the 
Gardener's boy and man, 

rijj.-flp.-.pj.'c to music of instruments, 

that was ready to second 

oOng. them in the arbour. From 

the " Masque given by 
Lord Knowles " (1613). — 
A. H. B. 


W elcome to this flowery place, 
Fair Goddess and sole Queen of grace : 
All eyes triumph in your sight, 
Which through all this empty space 
Casts such glorious beams of light. 

Paradise were meeter far 
To entertain so bright a star : 
But why errs my folly so ? 
Paradise is where you are : 
Heav'n above, and heav'n below. 


Lyric Poems. 


Could our powers and wishes meet, 
How well would they your graces greet 
Yet accept of our desire : 
Roses, of all flowers most sweet, 
Spring out of the silly briar. 

From the "Masque 
given by Lord Knowles " 

Gardener's <»6x 3 >-a. h. b. 

Udrueiier b .. At the g ueen - s part . 

Speech. in % on Wednesday in the 

afternoon, the Gardener 

with his man and boy and 

three handsome country 

maids, the one bearing a rich bag with linen in it, the 

second a rich apron, and a third a rich mantle, appear 

all out of an arbour in the lower garden, and meeting 

the Queen, the Gardener presents this speech." 


OTAY, goddess ! stay a little space, 
Our poor country love to grace, 
Since we dare not too long stay you, 
Accept at our hands, we pray you, 
These mean presents, to express 
Greater love than we profess, 
Or can utter now for woe 
Of your parting hast'ned so. 
Gifts these are, such as were wrought 
By their hands that them have brought, 


Home-bred things, which they presumed, 

After I had them perfumed 

With my flowery incantation, 

To give you in presentation 

At your parting. Come, feat lasses, 

With fine curtsies, and smooth faces, 

Offer up your simple toys 

To the mistress of our joys ; 

While we the sad time prolong 

With a mournful parting song. 


A Song of 

From the " Masque 
given by Lord Knowles" 

Three Voices. (i6i 3 ).-a. h. b. 


KsAN you, the author of our joy, 

So soon depart ? 
Will you revive, and straight destroy ? 

New mirth to tears convert ? 
O that ever cause of gladness 
Should so swiftly turn to sadness ! 

Now as we droop, so will these flowers, 

Barred of your sight : 
Nothing avail them heav'nly showers 

Without your heav'nly light. 
When the glorious sun forsakes us, 
Winter quickly overtakes us. 

Lyric Poems. 

Yet shall our prayers your ways attend, 

When you are gone ; 
And we the tedious time will spend, 

Rememb'ring you alone. 
Welcome here shall you hear ever, 
But the word of parting never. 

— \/vVVv^- 

A Song from the 
''Lords" Masque" (1613). 

Advance Your -a. h. b. 

Choral Motions. J^^Sm song, tl 

stars moved in an ex- 
ceeding strange and de- 
lightful manner, and I 
suppose few have ever seen more neat artifice than 
Master Inigo Jones shewed in contriving their 
motion, who in all the rest of the workmanship which 
belonged to the whole invention shewed extra- 
ordinary industry and skill, which if it be not as 
lively exprest in writing as it appeared in view, rob 
not him of his due, but lay the blame on my want of 
right apprehending his instructions for the adorning 
of his art." 

Advance your choral motions now, 

You music-loving lights : 
This night concludes the nuptial vow, 

Make this the best of nights : 


So bravely crown it with your beams 

That it may live in fame 
As long as Rhenus or the Thames 

Are known by either name. 

Once more again, yet nearer move 

Your forms at willing view ; 
Such fail effects of joy and love 

None can express but you. 
Then revel midst your airy bowers 

Till all the clouds do sweat, 
That pleasure may be poured in showers 

On this triumphant seat. 

Long since hath lovely Flora thrown 

Her flowers and garlands here ; 
Rich Ceres all her wealth hath shown, 

Proud of her dainty cheer. 
Changed then to human shape, descend, 

Clad in familiar weed, 
That every eye may here commend 

The kind delights you breed. 

— "A/VV''- 

Go, Happy Man. 

one of the squires. A 

From the " Masque at 
the Marriage of Earl 
Somerset" (1613). — A. 
H. B. "At the end of this 
speech, the Queen pulled 
a branch from the tree 
and gave it to a noble- 
man, who delivered it to 
song while the Squires 

descend with the bough toward the scene/' 

vJTo, happy man, like th' evening star, 
Whose beams to bridegrooms welcome are : 
May neither hag, nor fiend withstand 
The power of thy victorious hand. 

The uncharmed knights surrender now, 
By virtue of thy raised bough. 

Away, enchantments ! vanish quite, 
No more delay our longing sight : 
'Tis fruitless to contend with Fate, 
Who gives us power against your hate. 
Brave knights, in courtly pomp appear, 
For now are you long-looked-for here. 

— a/\A/w— 



From the " Lords' 

Masque" (1613). "The 

masquers, having every 

vj * J 1 C one entertained his lady, 

.Bridal oong. begin their first new 

entering dance : after it, 

while they breathe, the 

time is entertained with a 

dialogue-song." " Disleek " (1. 8), dislike.— A. H. B. 

.Dreathe you now, while Io Hymen 

To the bride we sing : 
O how many joys and honours, 

From this match will spring ! 
Ever firm the league will prove, 
Where only goodness causeth love. 
Some for profit seek 
What their fancies most disleek : 
These love for virtue's sake alone : 
Beauty and youth unite them both in one. 


Live with thy bridegroom happy, sacred bride ; 
How blest is he that is for love envied ! 

Tlie masquers' second dance. 

Breathe again, while we with music 

Fill the empty space : 
O but do not in your dances 

Yourselves only grace. 
Ev'ry one fetch out your fere, 
Whom chiefly you will honour here. 

Lyric Poems. 

Sights most pleasure breed, 
When their numbers most exceed. 
Choose then, for choice to all is free ; 
Taken or left, none discontent must be. 


Now in thy revels frolic-fair delight, 

To heap joy on this ever-honoured night. 


—N\f\fV* — 

From the " Lords' Masque ' 
(1613).— A. H. B. 


.lLnough of blessing, though too much 
Never can be said to such ; 
But night doth waste, and Hymen chides, 
Kind to bridegrooms and to brides. 
Then, singing, the last dance induce, 
So let good night present excuse. 

The Song. 

No longer wrong the night 
Of her Hymenaean right ; 
A thousand Cupids call away, 
Fearing the approaching day ; 
The cocks already crow : 

Dance then and go ! 


Song addressed " To 

the most sacred Queen 

,_,. ._ Anne." From the " Songs 

TlS nOW Dead of Mourning," for Prince 

Nl^ht. Henry, who died at the 

age of eighteen, Nov. 

6th, 1612. He was a 

friend of poets, and 

Campion was not the only poet who bewailed his 

untimely loss. — A. H. B. 


1 IS now dead night, and not a light on earth, 
Or star in heaven, doth shine : 
Let now a mother mourn the noblest birth 
That ever was both mortal and divine. 
O sweetness peerless ! more than human 

grace ! 
O flowery beauty ! O untimely death ! 
Now, Music, fill this place 
With thy most doleful breath : 
O singing wail a fate more truly funeral, 
Than when with all his sons the sire of Troy 
did fall. 

Sleep, Joy ! die, Mirth ! and not a smile be seen. 

Or show of heart's content ! 
For never sorrow nearer touched a Queen, 
Nor were there ever tears more duly spent. 
O dear remembrance, full of rueful woe ! 
O ceaseless passion ! O unhuman hour ! 
No pleasure now can grow, 
For withered is her flower. 
O anguish do thy worst and fury tragical, 
Since fate in taking one hath thus disordered all. 


Lyric Poems. 

Song addressed "To 
the most High and 
Fortune and Mighty Prince Charles." 

From the " Songs of 
Mourning." (1613). — 
A. H. B. 

-T* ortune and Glory may be lost and won, 
But when the work of Nature is undone 
That loss flies past returning ; 
No help is left but mourning. 
What can to kind youth more despiteful prove 
Than to be robbed of one sole brother ? 
Father and Mother 
Ask reverence, a brother only love. 
Like age and birth like thoughts and pleasures 
move : 
What gain can he heap up, though showers 

of crowns descend, 
Who for that good must change a brother 
and a friend ? 

Follow, O follow yet thy brother's fame, 
But not his fate : let's only change the name, 
And find his worth presented 
In thee, by him prevented. 
0['e]r past example of the dead be great, 
Out of thyself begin thy story : 

Virtue and glory 
Are eminent being placed in princely seat. 
Oh, heaven, his age prolong with sacred heat, 
And on his honoured head let all the 

blessings light 
Which to his brother's life men wished, and 
wished them right. 


A piece of chorus from 
a Tragedy. From " Ob- 
servations in the Art of 

Raving' Warre. En g' ish Poesie " (1602). 

& " The Dimeter I intend 

next of all to handle, 
because it seems to be 
a part of the Iambick, 
which is our most naturall and auncient English 
verse. We may terme this our English march, be- 
cause the verse answers our warlick forme of 
march in similitude of number. But call it what 
you please, for I will not wrangle about names, only 
intending to set down the nature of it and true 
structure. It consists of two feete and one odd 
sillable. The first foote may be made either a 
Trochy, or a Spondee, or an Iambick at the pleasure 
of the composer, though most naturally that place 
affects a Trochy or Spondee ; yet by the example 
of Catullus in his Hendicasillables, I adde in the 
first place sometimes an Iambick foote. In the 
second place we must ever insert a Trochy or 
Tribrack, and so leave the last sillable (as in the 
end of a verse it is alwaies held) common." 


.aving warre begot 
In the thirstye sands 
Of the Lybian lies, 
Wasts our emptye fields ; 
What the greedye rage 
Of fell wintrye stormes 
Could not turne to spoite, 
Fierce Bellona now 
Hath laid desolate, 
Voyd of fruit, or hope. 

Lyric Poems. 

Th' eger thriftye hinde, 
Whose rude toyle reviv'd 
Our skie-blasted earth, 
Himselfe is but earth, 
Left a skorne to fate 
Through seditious amies : 
And that soile, alive 
Which he duly nurst, 
Which him duly fed, 
Dead his body feeds : 
Yet not all the glebe 
His tuffe hands manur'd 
Now one turfe affords 
His poore funerall. 
Thus still needy lives, 
Thus still needy dyes 
Th' unknowne multitude. 

— m/VW- 


To the Reader. 

Prefixed to Barnabe 
Barnes' " Four Books of 
Offices, 1606." In Honour 
of the Author by Tho : 
Campion, Doctor in 

1 hough neither thou dost keep the keys of 

Nor yet the counsels, reader, what of that ? 
Though th' art no law-pronouncer marked by 

Nor field-commander, reader, what of that ? 
Blanch not this book ; for if thou mind'st to be 
Virtuous and honest it belongs to thee. 
Here is the school of temperance and wit, 
Of Justice and all forms that tend to it ; 
Here Fortitude doth teach to live and die : 
Then, Reader, love this book, or rather buy. 

■kt -ti T-i 1 • L'envoi inscribed to 

Neither Buskin the Reader: from the 

nOW, nor Bays. "Masque at the Marriage 
of the Lord Hayes." 

IS EITHER buskin now, nor bays 
Challenge I : a Lady's praise 
Shall content my proudest hope. 
Their applause was all my scope ; 
And to their shrines properly 
Revels dedicated be : 
8 k 145 

Lyric Poems. 

Whose soft ears none ought to pierce 
But with smooth and gentle verse. 
Let the tragic Poem swell, 
Raising raging fiends from hell ; 
And let epic dactyls range 
Swelling seas and countries strange : 
Little room small things contains ; 
Easy praise quites easy pains. 
Suffer them whose brows do sweat 
To gain honour by the great : 
It's enough if men me name 
A retailer of such fame. 



" Presented before the 
King's Majesty at White 

Masque at the Hail, on twelfth night 

last (1600), in honour of 
the Lord Hayes (Sir Jas. 
Hay), and his bride, 
daughter and heir to the 
honourable the Lord 

Denny, their marriage having been the same day 

at Court solemnized." 

[ue at the 
Marriage of the 
Lord Hayes. 

i\s in battles, so in all other actions that are 
to be reported, the first, and most necessary 
part is the description of the place, with his 
opportunities and properties, whether they be 
natural or artificial. The great hall (wherein 
the Masque was presented) received this division, 
and order. The upper part where the cloth 
and chair of state were placed, had scaffolds 
and seats on either side continued to the 
screen ; right before it was made a partition 
for the dancing-place ; on the right hand 
whereof were consorted ten musicians, with 
bass and mean lutes, a bandora, a double 
sackbut, and an harpsichord, with two treble 
violins ; on the other side somewhat nearer 
the screen were placed nine violins and three 
lutes, and to answer both the consorts (as it 
were in a triangle) six cornets, and six chapel 
voices, were seated almost right against them, 

A Masque. 

in a place raised higher in respect of the 
piercing sound of those instruments ; eighteen 
foot from the screen, another stage was raised 
higher by a yard than that which was prepared 
for dancing. This higher stage was all en- 
closed with a double veil, so artificially painted, 
that it seemed as if dark clouds had hung 
before it : within that shroud was concealed 
a green valley, with green trees round about 
it, and in the midst of them nine golden trees 
of fifteen foot high, with arms and branches 
very glorious to behold. From the which 
grove toward the state was made a broad 
descent to the dancing-place, just in the 
midst of it ; on either hand were two ascents, 
like the sides of two hills, drest with shrubs 
and trees ; that on the right hand leading to 
the bower of Flora : the other to the house 
of Night ; which bower and house were placed 
opposite at either end of the screen, and be- 
tween them both was raised a hill, hanging 
like a cliff over the grove below, and on the 
top of it a goodly large tree was set, supposed 
to be the tree of Diana ; behind the which 
toward the window was a small descent, with 
another spreading hill that climbed up to the 
top of the window, with many trees on the 
height of it, whereby those that played on the 
hautboys at the King's entrance into the hall 
were shadowed. The bower of Flora was very 
spacious, garnished with all kind of flowers, 
and flowery branches with lights in them ; the 
house of Night ample and stately, with black 
pillars, whereon many stars of gold were fixed : 


within it, when it was empty, appeared nothing 
but clouds and stars, and on the top of it stood 
three turrets underpropt with small black 
starred pillars, the middlemost being highest 
and greatest, the other two of equal propor- 
tion : about it were placed on wire artificial 
bats and owls, continually moving ; with 
many other inventions, the which for brevity 
sake I pass by with silence. 

Thus much for the place, and now from 
thence let us come to the persons. 

The Masquers' names were these (whom 
both for order and honour I mention in 
the first place). 

i. Lord Walden 

2. Sir Thomas Howard. 

3. Sir Henry Carey, Master of the Jewel 


4. Sir Richard Preston \Gent. of the K. 

5. Sir John Ashley /Privy Chamber. 

6. Sir Thomas Jarret, Pensioner. 

7. Sir John Digby, one of the King's Carvers. 

8. Sir Thomas Badger, Master of the 

King's Harriers. 

9. Master Goringe. 

Their number nine, the best and amplest of 
numbers, for as in music seven notes contain 
all variety, the eight[h] being in nature the 
same with the first, so in numbering after the 
ninth we begin again, the tenth being as it were 
the diapason in arithmetic. The number of 

A Masque. 

nine is framed by the Muses and Worthies, and 
it is of all the most apt for change and diversity 
of proportion. The chief habit which the 
Masquers did use is set forth to your view 
in the first leaf : they presented in their feigned 
persons the knights of Apollo, who is the father 
of heat and youth, and consequently of amor- 
ous affections. 

The Speakers ivcre in number four. 


the queen of flowers, attired in a changeable 
taffeta gown, with a large veil embroidered 
with flowers, a crown of flowers, and white 
buskins painted with flowers. 


in a white loose robe of sky-coloured taffeta, 
with a mantle of white silk, propped with wire, 
still waving behind him as he moved ; on his 
head he wore a wreath of palm deckt with 
primroses and violets, the hair of his head 
and beard were flaxen, and his buskins white, 
and painted with flowers. 


in a close robe of black silk and gold, a black 
mantle embroidered with stars, a crown of stars 
on her head, her hair black and spangled with 
gold, her face black, her buskins black, and 
painted with stars ; in her hand she bore a 
black wand, wreathed with gold. 


in a close robe of a deep crimson taffeta mingled 
with sky-colour, and over that a large loose 
robe of a lighter crimson taffeta ; on his head 
he wore a wreathed band of gold, with a star 
in the front thereof, his hair and beard red, and 
buskins yellow. 

These are the principal persons that bear 
sway in this invention, others that are but 
seconders to these, I will describe in their 
proper places, discoursing the Masque in order 
as it was performed. 

As soon as the King was entered the great 
Hall, the Hautboys (out of the wood on the 
top of the hill) entertained the time till his 
Majesty and his train were placed, and then 
after a little expectation the consort of ten 
began to play an air, at the sound whereof 
the veil on the right hand was withdrawn, 
and the ascent of the hill with the bower of 
Flora were discovered, where Flora and 
Zephyrus were busily plucking flowers from 
the bower, and throwing them into two 
baskets, which two Sylvans held, who were 
attired in changeable taffeta, with wreaths 
of flowers on their heads. As soon as the 
baskets were filled, they came down in this 
order ; first Zephyrus and Flora, then the 
two Sylvans with baskets after them ; four 
Sylvans in green taffeta and wreaths, two 
bearing mean lutes, the third, a bass lute, 
and the fourth a deep bandora. 

As soon as they came to the descent toward 
the dancing-place, the consort of ten ceased, 

A Masque. 

and the four Sylvans played the same air, to 
which Zephyrus and the two other Sylvans did 
sing these words in a bass, tenor, and treble 
voice, and going up and down as they sung 
they strewed flowers all about the place. 


Now hath Flora robbed her bowers 
To befriend this place with flowers : 

Strow about, strow about ! 
The sky rained never kindlier showers. 
Flowers with bridals well agree, 
Fresh as brides and bridegrooms be : 

Strow about, strow about ! 
And mix them with fit melody. 
Earth hath no princelier flowers 
Than roses white and roses red, 
But they must still be mingled : 
And as a rose new plucked from Venus' thorn, 
So doth a bride her bridegroom's bed adorn. 

Divers divers flowers affect 
For some private dear respect : 

Strow about, strow about ! 
Let every one his own protect ; 
But he's none of Flora's friend 
That will not the rose commend. 

Strow about, strow about ! 
Let princes princely flowers defend : 
Roses, the garden's pride, 
Are flowers for love and flowers for kings, 
In courts desired and weddings : 


And as a rose in Venus' bosom worn, 

So doth a bridegroom his bride's bed adorn. 

The music ceaseth and Flora speaks. 


Flowers and good wishes Flora doth present, 
Sweet flowers, the ceremonious ornament 
Of maiden marriage, Beauty figuring, 
And blooming youth ; which though we care- 
less fling 
About this sacred place, let none profane 
Think that these fruits from common hills are 

Or vulgar vallies which do subject lie 
To winter's wrath and cold mortality. 
But these are hallowed and immortal flowers 
With Flora's hands gathered from Flora's 

Such are her presents, endless as her love, 
And such for ever may this night's joy prove. 


For ever endless may this night's joy prove ! 
So echoes Zephyrus the friend of Love, 
Whose aid Venus implores when she doth bring 
Into the naked world the green-leaved spring. 
When of the sun's warm beams the nets we 

That can the stubborn'st heart with love deceive. 
That Queen of Beauty and Desire by me 
Breathes gently forth this bridal prophecy : 
Faithful and fruitful shall these bedmates prove, 
Blest in their fortunes, honoured in their love, 

A Masque. 


All grace this night, and, Sylvans, so must you, 
OfFring your marriage song with changes new. 

the song in form of a dialogue. 


Who is the happier of the two, 
A maid, or wife ? 


Which is more to be desired, 
Peace or strife ? 


What strife can be where two are one, 
Or what delight to pine alone ? 


None such true friends, none so sweet life, 
As that between the man and wife. 

A maid is free, a wife is tied. 


No maid but fain would be a bride. 


Why live so many single then? 
'Tis not I hope for want of men. 



The bow and arrow both may fit, 
And yet 'tis hard the mark to hit. 


He levels fair that by his side 
Lays at night his lovely Bride. 

Sing Io, Hymen ! Io, Io, Hymen ! 

This song being ended the whole veil is 
suddenly drawn, the grove and trees of gold, 
and the hill with Diana's tree are at once 

Night appears in her house with her Nine 
Hours, apparelled in large robes of black 
taffeta, painted thick with stars, their hairs 
long, black, and spangled with gold, on their 
heads coronets of stars, and their faces black. 
Every Hour bore in his hand a black torch, 
painted with stars, and lighted. Night pre- 
sently descending from her house spake as 


Vanish, dark veils ! let night in glory shine 
As she doth burn in rage : come leave our shrine 
You black-haired Hours, and guide us with 

your lights, 
Flora hath wakened wide our drowsy sprites : 
See where she triumphs, see her flowers are 

And all about the seeds of malice sown ! 

A Masque. 

Despiteful Flora, is't not enough of grief 
That Cynthia's robbed, but thou must grace 

the thief? 
Or didst not hear Night's sovereign Queen 

Hymen had stolen a Nymph out of her train, 
And matched her here, plighted henceforth to be 
Love's friend, and stranger to virginity? 
And makest thou sport for this ? 

Be mild, stern Night ; 
Flora doth honour Cynthia, and her right. 
Virginity is a voluntary power, 
Free from constraint, even like an untouched 

Meet to be gathered when 'tis throughly blown. 
The Nymph was Cynthia's while she was her 

But now another claims in her a right, 
By fate reserved thereto and wise foresight. 

Can Cynthia one kind virgin's loss bemoan ? 
How if perhaps she brings her ten for one? 
Or can she miss one in so full a train ? 
Your Goddess doth of too much store complain. 
If all her Nymphs would ask advice of me 
There should be fewer virgins than there be. 
Nature ordained not men to live alone, 
Where there are two a woman should be one. 

Thou breath'st sweet poison, wanton Zephyrus, 
But Cynthia must not be deluded thus. 



Her holy forests are by thieves profaned, 
Her virgins frighted, and lo, where they stand 
That late were Phoebus' knights, turned now 

to trees 
By Cynthia's vengement for their injuries 
In seeking to seduce her nymphs with love : 
Here they are fixt, and never may remove 
But by Diana's power that stuck them here. 
Apollo's love to them doth yet appear, 
In that his beams hath gilt them as they grow, 
To make their misery yield the greater show. 
But they shall tremble when sad Night doth 

And at her stormy words their boughs shall 


Toward the end of this speech Hesperus 
begins to descend by the house of Night, and 
by that time the speech was finished he was 
ready to speak. 


Hail reverend angry Night, hail Queen of 

Mild spirited Zephyrus, hail, Syl vans and Hours. 
Hesperus brings peace, cease then your need- 
less jars 
Here in this little firmament of stars. 
Cynthia is now by Phcebus pacified, 
And well content her nymph is made a bride. 
Since the fair match was by that Phcebus graced 
Which in this happy Western Isle is placed 
As he in heaven, one lamp enlight'ning all 
That under his benign aspect doth fall. 

A Masque. 

Deep oracles he speaks, and he alone 
For arts and wisdom's meet for Phcebus' throne. 
The Nymph is honoured, and Diana pleased : 
Night, be you then, and your black Hours 

appeased : 
And friendly listen what your queen by me 
Farther commands : let this my credence be, 
View it, and know it for the highest gem, 
That hung on her imperial diadem. 


I know, and honour it, lovely Hesperus, 
Speak then your message, both are welcome to 


Your Sovereign from the virtuous gem she sends 
Bids you take power to retransform the friends 
Of Phoebus, metamorphosed here to trees, 
And give them straight the shapes which they 
did lese. 
This is her pleasure. 


Hesperus, I obey, 

Night must needs yield when Phcebus gets the 

Honoured be Cynthia for this generous deed. 


Pity grows only from celestial seed. 



If all seem glad, why should we only lower? 
Since t'express gladness we have now most 

Frolic, graced captives, we present you here 
This glass, wherein your liberties appear : 
Cynthia is pacified, and now blithe Night 
Begins to shake off melancholy quite. 

Who should grace mirth and revels but the 

Night ? 
Next Love she should be goddess of delight. 


Tis now a time when (Zephyrus) all with danc- 
Honour me, above Day my state advancing. 
I'll now be frolic, all is full of heart, 
And ev'n these trees for joy shall bear a part : 
Zephyrus, they shall dance. 

Dance, Goddess? how? 


Seems that so full of strangeness to you now ? 
Did not the Thracian harp long since the same ? 
And (if we rip the old records of fame) 
Did not Amphion's lyre the deaf stones call, 
When they came dancing to the Theban wall? 
Can music then joy ? joy mountains moves 
And why not trees? joy's powerful when it loves- 
Could the religious Oak speak Oracle 

A Masque. 

Like to the Gods ? and the tree wounded tell 
Tineas his sad story ? have trees therefore 
The instruments of speech and hearing more 
Than th' have of pacing, and to whom but 

Belong enchantments ? who can more affright 
The eye with magic wonders? Night alone 
Is fit for miracles, and this shall be one 
Apt for this Nuptial dancing jollity. 
Earth, then be soft and passable to free 
These fettered roots : joy, trees ! the time draws 

When in your better forms you shall appear. 
Dancing and music must prepare the way, 
There's little tedious time in such delay. 

This spoken, the four Sylvans played on 
their instruments the first strain of this song 
following: and at the repetition thereof the 
voices fell in with the instruments which were 
thus divided : a treble and a bass were placed 
near his Majesty, and another treble and bass 
near the grove, that the words of the song 
might be heard of all, because the trees of gold 
instantly at the first sound of their voices began 
to move and dance according to the measure 
of the time which the musicians kept in singing, 
and the nature of the words which they de- 

Move now with measured sound, 
You charmed grove of gold, 
Trace forth the sacred ground 
That shall your forms unfold. 

1 60 


Diana and the starry Night for your Apollo's 

Endue your Sylvan shapes with power this 
strange delight to make. 

Much joy must needs the place betide where 
trees for gladness move : 

A fairer sight was ne'er beheld, or more ex- 
pressing love. 

Yet nearer Phoebus' throne 
Meet on your winding ways, 
Your bridal mirth make known 
In your high-graced Hayes. 

Let Hymen lead your sliding rounds, and guide 
them with his light, 

While we do Io Hymen sing in honour of this 

Join three by three, for so the night by triple 
spell decrees, 

Now to release Apollo's knights from these en- 
chanted trees. 

This dancing-song being ended, the golden 
trees stood in ranks three by three, and Night 
ascended up to the grove, and spake thus, 
touching the first three severally with her 


By virtue of this wand, and touch divine, 
These Sylvan shadows back to earth resign : 
Your native forms resume, with habit fair, 
While solemn music shall enchant the air. 
8 l 161 

A Masque. 

Presently the Sylvans with their four instru- 
ments, and five voices, began to play, and sing 
together the song following ; at the beginning 
whereof that part of the stage whereon the 
first three trees stood began to yield, and the 
three foremost trees gently to sink, and this 
was effected by an engine placed under the 
stage. When the trees had sunk a yard they 
cleft in three parts, and the Masquers appeared 
out of the tops of them, the trees were 
suddenly conveyed away, and the first three 
Masquers were raised again by the engine. 
They appeared then in a false habit, yet very 
fair, and in form not much unlike their princi- 
pal and true robe. It was made of green 
taffeta cut into leaves, and laid upon cloth of 
silver, and their hats were suitable to the 


Night and Diana charge, 

And th' Earth obeys, 
Opening large 

Her secret ways, 
While Apollo's charmed men 

Their forms receive again. 
Give gracious Phoebus honour then, 
And so fall down, and rest behind the train, 
Give gracious Phoebus honour then, 
And so fall, &c. 

When those words were sung, the three 
Masquers made an honour to the King, and 
so tailing back, the other six trees, three by 


three, came forward, and when they were 
in their appointed places, Night spake again 


Thus can celestials work in human fate, 
Transform and form as they do love or hate ; 
Like touch and change receive. The Gods 

agree : 
The best of numbers is contained in three. 

Night and Diana, &c. 

Then Night touched the second three trees 
and the stage sunk with them as before : and 
in brief the second three did in all points as 
the first. Then Night spake again. 

The last, and third of nine, touch, magic 

And give them back their forms at Night's 


Night touched the third three trees, and the 
same charm of Night and Diana was sung 
the third time ; the last three trees were trans- 
formed, and the Masquers raised, when 
presently the first Music began his full 

Again this song revive and sound it high : 
Long live Apollo, Britain's glorious eye ! 

A Masque. 

This chorus was in manner of an Echo, 
seconded by the cornets, then by the consort 
of ten, then by the consort of twelve, and by a 
double chorus of voices standing on either side, 
the one against the other, bearing five voices 
apiece, and sometime every chorus was heard 
severally, sometime mixed, but in the end 
altogether : which kind of harmony so dis- 
tinguished by the place, and by the several 
nature of instruments, and changeable con- 
veyance of the song, and performed by so 
many excellent masters as were actors in that 
music (their number in all amounting to forty- 
two voices and instruments), could not but yield 
great satisfaction to the hearers. 

While this chorus was repeated twice over, 
the nine masters in their green habits solemnly 
descended to the dancing-place, in such order 
as they were to begin their dance, and as soon 
as the chorus ended, the violins, or consort of 
twelve began to play the second new dance, 
which was taken in form of an echo by the 
cornets, and then catched in like manner by 
the consort of ten (sometime they mingled 
two musics together ; sometime played all at 
once) ; which kind of echoing music rarely 
became their sylvan attire, and was so truly 
mixed together, that no dance could ever be 
better graced than that, as (in such distraction 
of music) it was performed by the masquers. 
After this dance Night descended from the 
grove, and addressed her speech to the 
masquers, as followeth. 



Phoebus is pleased, and all rejoice to see 
His servants from their golden prison free. 
But yet since Cynthia hath so friendly smiled, 
And to you tree-born knights is reconciled, 
First ere you any more work undertake, 
About her tree solemn procession make, 
Diana's tree, the tree of Chastity, 
That placed alone on yonder hill you see. 
These green-leaved robes, wherein disguised 

you made 
Stealths to her nymphs through the thick 

forest's shade, 
There to the goddess offer thankfully, 
That she may not in vain appeased be. 
The Night shall guide you, and her Hours 

attend you 
That no ill eyes, or spirits shall offend you. 

At the end of this speech Night began to 
lead the way alone, and after her an Hour 
with his torch, and after the Hour a masquer ; 
and so in order one by one, a torch-bearer and 
a masquer, they march on towards Diana's 
tree. When the masquers came by the house 
of Night, every one by his Hour received his 
helmet, and had his false robe plucked off, 
and, bearing it in his hand, with a low honour 
offered it at the tree of Chastity, and so in his 
glorious habit, with his Hour before him, 
marched to the bower of Flora. The shape 
of their habit the picture before discovers, the 
stuff was of carnation satin laid thick with 
broad silver lace, their helmets being made 

A Masque. 

of the same stuff. So through the bower of 
Flora they came, where they joined two torch- 
bearers, and two masquers, and when they 
past down to the grove, the Hours parted on 
either side, and made way between them for 
the masquers, who descended to the dancing- 
place in such order as they were to begin their 
third new dance. All this time of procession 
the six cornets, and six chapel voices sung 
a solemn motet of six parts made upon these 

With spotless minds now mount we to the tree 

Of single chastity. 
The root is temperance grounded deep, 
Which the cold-juiced earth doth steep : 

Water it desires alone, 

Other drink it thirsts for none : 
Therewith the sober branches it doth feed, 

Which though they fruitless be, 
Yet comely leaves they breed, 

To beautify the tree. 
Cynthia protectress is, and for her sake 
We this grave procession make. 
Chaste eyes and ears, pure hearts and voices, 
Are graces wherein Phoebe most rejoices. 

The motet being ended, the violins began the 
third new dance, which was lively performed by 
the masquers, after which they took forth the 
ladies, and danced the measures with them ; 
which being finished, the masquers brought 
the ladies back again to their places: and 
Hesperus with the rest descended from the 


grove into the dancing-place, and spake to the 
masquers as followeth. 


Knights of Apollo, proud of your new birth, 
Pursue your triumphs still with joy and mirth : 
Your changed fortunes, and redeemed estate, 
Hesperus to your Sovereign will relate. 
"Tis now high time he were far hence retired, 
Th' old bridal friend, that ushers Night desired 
Through the dim evening shades, then taking 

Gives place and honour to the nuptial Night. 
I, that wished evening star, must now make 

To Hymen's rights much wronged by my delay. 
But on Night's princely state you ought t' 

And t' honour your new reconciled friend. 


Hesperus as you with concord came, ev'n so 
'Tis meet that you with concord hence should 

Then join you, that in voice and art excel, 
To give this star a musical farewell. 


i. Of all the stars which is the kindest 

To a loving Bride ? 
2. Hesperus when in the west 

He doth the day from night divide. 

A Masque. 

i. What message can be more respected 
Than that which tells wished joys shall be 
effected ? 
2. Do not Brides watch the evening star ? 

1. O they can discern it far. 

2. Love Bridegrooms revels ? 

i. But for fashion. 
2. And why ? i. They hinder wished occasion. 
2. Longing hearts and new delights, 
Love short days and long nights. 


Hesperus, since you all stars excel 

In bridal kindness, kindly farewell, farewell. 

While these words of the Chorus [kindly 
farewell, farewell) were in singing often 
repeated, Hesperus took his leave severally 
of Night, Flora, and Zephyrus, the Hours 
and Sylvans, and so while the chorus was 
sung over the second time, he was got up to 
the grove, where turning again to the singers, 
and they to him, Hesperus took a second 
farewell of them, and so past away by the 
house of Night. Then Night spake these 
two lines, and therewith all retired to the 
grove where they stood before. 


Come, Flora, let us now withdraw our train 
That th' eclipsed revels may shine forth again. 

Now the masquers began their lighter dances 
as corantoes, levaltas and galliards, wherein 
when they had spent as much time as they 

1 68 


thought fit, Night spake thus from the grove, 
and in her speech descended a little into the 

Here stay : Night leaden-eyed and sprited 

And her late Hours begin to hang their brows. 
Hymen long since the bridal bed hath drest, 
And longs to bring the turtles to their nest. 
Then with one quick dance sound up your 

And with one song we'll bid you all good-night. 

At the end of these words, the violins began 
the 4 new dance, which was excellently dis- 
charged by the Masquers, and it ended with a 
light change of music and measure. After the 
dance followed this dialogue of 2 voices, a bass 
and tenor sung by a Sylvan and an Hour. 

Ten. Sylvan. 
Tell me, gentle Hour of Night, 
Wherein dost thou most delight ? 

Bas. Ho. 
Not in sleep. 

Wherein then ? 

In the frolic view of men ? 

Lovest thou music i 

ir' 5 

A Masque. 


O 'tis sweet. 

What's dancing? 


Ev'n the mirth of feet. 

Joy you in fairies and in elves ? 


We are of that sort ourselves. 
But, Sylvan, say why do you love 
Only to frequent the grove? 


Life is fullest of content, 
Where delight is innocent. 


Pleasure must vary, not be long. 
Come then let's close, and end our song. 


Yet, ere we vanish from this princely sight, 
Let us bid Phoebus and his states good- 

This chorus was performed with several 

Echoes of music, and voices, in manner as 

the great chorus before. At the end whereof 

the Masquers, putting off their vizards and 



helmets, made a low honour to the King, and 
attended his Majesty to the banqueting place. 


Neither buskin now, nor bays 
Challenge I : a Lady's praise 
Shall content my proudest hope. 
Their applause was all my scope ; 
And to their shrines properly 
Revels dedicated be : 
Whose soft ears none ought to pierce 
But with smooth and gentle verse. 
Let the tragic Poem swell, 
Raising raging fiends from hell ; 
And let epic dactyls range 
Swelling seas and countries strange : 
Little room small things contains ; 
Easy praise quites easy pains. 
Suffer them whose brows do sweat 
To gain honour by the great : 
It's enough if men me name 
A retailer of such fame. 


Shows and 
Nightly Revels. 

Additional song, from 
the " Lord Hayes' 
Masque." " Though the 
airs were devised only for 
dancing, yet they are here 
set forth with words that 
they may be sung to the 
lute or viol." (See also 
song on p. 124.) 

Ohows and nightly revels, signs of joy and 

Fill royal Britain's Court, while cruel war far 

off doth rage, for ever hence exiled. 
Fair and princely branches with strong arms 

From that deep-rooted tree whose sacred 

strength and glory foreign malice hath 

Our divided kingdoms now in friendly kindred 

And old debate to love and kindness turns, our 

power with double force uniting ; 
Truly reconciled, grief appears at last more 

Both to ourselves .and faithful friends, our 

undermining foes affrighting. 

Triumph Now. 

Additional song, from 
the " Lord Hayes' 
Masque" (1606). 

A. H. B. 

1 riumph now with joy and mirth ! 

The God of Peace hath blessed our land : 
We enjoy the fruits of earth 

Through favour of His bounteous hand. 

We through His most loving grace 
A king and kingly seed behold, 

Like a sun with lesser stars 
Or careful shepherd to his fold : 

Triumph then, and yield Him praise 

That gives us blest and joyful days. 







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