Table of Contents Previous Chapter Next Chapter
16th Cent.
QUHEN Flora had oerfret1 the firth
In May of every moneth queen;
Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirth
Sweet melling in the shawis2 sheen;3
Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene
And most desirous of their prey,
I heard a lusty luvar mene4
I luve, but I dare nocht assay!
Strong are the pains I daily prove,
But yet with patience I sustene,
I am so fetterit with the luve
Only of my lady sheen,
Quhilk for her beauty micht be queen,
Nature so craftily alway
Has done depaint that sweet serene:
Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay.
She is so bricht of hyd5 and hue,
I luve but her alone, I ween;
Is none her luve that may eschew,
That blinkis6 of that dulce amene;7
So comely cleir are her twa een
That she mae8 luvaris dois affray
Than ever of Greece did fair Helene:
Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay!
7 dulce amene: gentle and pleasant one.
16th Cent.
OLUSTY May, with Flora queen!
The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen1
Preluciand beams before the day:
By that Diana growis green
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Then Esperus, that is so bricht,
Til2 woful hairtis castis his light,
With bankis that bloomis on every brae;
And schouris are shed forth of their sicht
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Birdis on bewis3 of every birth,4
Rejoicing notis makand their mirth
Richt plesantly upon the spray,
With flourishingis oer field and firth
Through gladness of this lusty May.
All luvaris that are in care
To their ladies they do repair
In fresh mornings before the day,
And are in mirth ay mair and mair
Through gladness of this lusty May.
16th Cent.
MY heart is high above, my body is full of bliss,
For I am set in luve as well as I would wiss1
I luve my lady pure and she luvis me again,
I am her serviture, she is my soverane;
She is my very heart, I am her howp and heill,2
She is my joy invart,3 I am her luvar leal;
I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command;
I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand;
The thing that may her please my body sall fulfil;
Quhatever her disease, it does my body ill.
My bird, my bonny ane, my tender babe venust,4
My luve, my life alane, my liking and my lust!
We interchange our hairtis in others armis soft,
Spriteless we twa depairtis, usand our luvis oft.
We mourn when licht day dawis, we plain the nicht is short,
We curse the cock that crawis, that hinderis our disport.
I glowffin5 up aghast, quhen I her miss on nicht,
And in my oxter6 fast I find the bowster richt;
Then languor on me lies like Morpheus the mair,
Quhilk causes me uprise and to my sweet repair.
And then is all the sorrow forth of remembrance
That ever I had a-forrow7 in luvis observance.
Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead,
Quhen that I list to test the well of womanheid.
Luvaris in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid
As I have nicht and day, you to defend from deid!
Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free,
And they will on you rue as mine has done on me.
NUMBERS
from
BY UNNAMED OR UNCERTAIN AUTHORS
GIVE place, you ladies, and begone!
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain you all.
The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.
In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy;
It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.
I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.
She may be well compared
Unto the Phoenix kind,
Whose like was never seen or heard,
That any man can find.
In life she is Diana chaste,
In troth Penelopey;
In word and eke in deed steadfast.
What will you more we say?
If all the world were sought so far,
Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.
Her rosial colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,
More ruddier, too, than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.
At Bacchus feast none shall her meet,
Ne at no wanton play,
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as a stray.
The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mixd with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.
O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair.
Truly she doth so far exceed
Our women nowadays,
As doth the jeliflower a weed;
And more a thousand ways.
How might I do to get a graff
Of this unspotted tree?
For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.
This gift alone I shall her give;
When death doth what he can,
Her honest fame shall ever live
Within the mouth of man.
? by John Heywood
Tottels Miscellany, 1557
SHALL I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare?1
And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not
hear?
Alas! say nay! say nay! and be no more so dumb,
But open thou thy manly mouth and say that thou wilt come:
Whereby my heart may think, although I see not thee,
That thou wilt comethy word so swareif thou a live
man be.
The roaring hugy waves they threaten my poor ghost,
And toss thee up and down the seas in danger to be lost.
Shall they not make me fear that they have swallowed thee?
But as thou art most sure alive, so wilt thou come to
me.
Whereby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand,
And think and say Lo where he comes and Sure here will he
land:
And then I shall lift up to thee my little hand,
And thou shalt think thine heart in ease, in health to see me
stand.
And if thou come indeed (as Christ thee send to do!)
Those arms which miss thee now shall then embrace [and
hold] thee to:
Each vein to every joint the lively blood shall spread
Which now for want of thy glad sight doth show full pale and
dead.
But if thou slip thy troth, and do not come at all,
As minutes in the clock do strike so call for death I shall:
To please both thy false heart and rid myself from woe,
That rather had to die in troth than live forsaken so!
1 neare: nearer.
63 The
Faithless Shepherdess
William Byrds Songs of
Sundry Natures, 1589
WHILE that the sun with his beams hot
Scorchàed the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
Sitting beside a crystal fountain
In shadow of a green oak tree,
Upon his pipe this song playd he:
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
So long as I was in your sight
I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And evermore you sobbd and sighd
Burning in flames beyond all measure:
Three days endured your love to me,
And it was lost in other three!
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Another shepherd you did see,
To whom your heart was soon enchainàed;
Full soon your love was leapt from me,
Full soon my place he had obtainàed.
Soon came a third your love to win,
And we were out and he was in.
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Sure you have made me passing glad
That you your mind so soon removàed,
Before that I the leisure had
To choose you for my best belovàed:
For all my love was passd and done
Two days before it was begun.
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
The Passionate Pilgrim, 1599
CRABBÈED Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Ages breath is short;
Youth is nimble, Age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee;
Youth, I do adore thee;
O, my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I do defy thee:
O, sweet shepherd, hie thee!
For methinks thou stayst too long.
? by William Shakespeare
Englands Helicon, 1600
Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my Corydon!
Titan
shineth clear.
Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon?
Who
is it that I hear?
Phyl. Phyllida,
thy true love, calleth thee,
Arise
then, arise then,
Arise
and keep thy flock with me!
Cor. Phyllida,
my true love, is it she?
I
come then, I come then,
I
come and keep my flock with thee.
Phyl. Here are cherries ripe
for my Corydon;
Eat
them for my sake.
Cor. Heres
my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport
for thee to make.
Phyl. Here are
threads, my true love, fine as silk,
To
knit thee, to knit thee,
A
pair of stockings white as milk.
Cor. Here are reeds,
my true love, fine and neat,
To
make thee, to make thee,
A
bonnet to withstand the heat.
Phyl. I will gather flowers,
my Corydon,
To
set in thy cap.
Cor. I will gather
pears, my lovely one,
To
put in thy lap.
Phyl. I will buy
my true love garters gay,
For
Sundays, for Sundays,
To
wear about his legs so tall.
Cor. I will buy
my true love yellow say,1
For
Sundays, for Sundays,
To
wear about her middle small.
Phyl. When my
Corydon sits on a hill
Making
melody
Cor. When my lovely
one goes to her wheel,
Singing
cheerily
Phyl. Sure methinks
my true love doth excel
For
sweetness, for sweetness,
Our
Pan, that old Arcadian knight.
Cor. And methinks
my true love bears the bell
For
clearness, for clearness,
Beyond
the nymphs that be so bright.
Phyl. Had my Corydon,
my Corydon,
Been,
alack! her swain
Cor. Had my lovely
one, my lovely one,
Been
in Ida plain
Phyl. Cynthia Endymion
had refused,
Preferring,
preferring,
My
Corydon to play withal.
Cor. The Queen
of Love had been excused
Bequeathing,
bequeathing,
My
Phyllida the golden ball.
Phyl. Yonder comes
my mother, Corydon!
Whither
shall I fly?
Cor. Under yonder
beech, my lovely one,
While
she passeth by.
Phyl. Say to her
thy true love was not here;
Remember,
remember,
To-morrow
is another day.
Cor. Doubt me not,
my true love, do not fear;
Farewell
then, farewell then!
Heaven
keep our loves alway!
1 say: soie, silk.
66 A
Pedlar
John Dowlands Second Book of
Songs or Airs, 1600
FINE knacks for ladies! cheap, choice, brave, and new,
Good pennyworthsbut money cannot move:
I keep a fair but for the Fair to view
A beggar may be liberal of love.
Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
The heart is true.
Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again;
My trifles come as treasures from my mind:
It is a precious jewel to be plain;
Sometimes in shell the orientst pearls we find:
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!
Of me a grain!
Christ Church MS.
HEY nonny no!
Men are fools that wish to die!
Ist not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Ist not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,
And sing hey nonny no!
When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!
Campians First Book of Airs
TUNE thy music to thy heart;
Sing thy joy with thanks, and so thy sorrow.
Though devotion needs not art,
Sometime of the poor the rich may borrow.
Strive not yet for curious ways;
Concord pleaseth more the less tis strainàed.
Zeal affects not outward praise,
Only strives to show a love unfeignàed.
Love can wondrous things effect,
Sweetest sacrifice all wrath appeasing.
Love the Highest doth respect;
Love alone to Him is ever pleasing.
Christ Church MS.
YET if His Majesty, our sovereign lord,
Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say Ill be your guest to-morrow night,
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! Let no man idle stand!
Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall;
See they be fitted all;
Let there be room to eat
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dazie oer the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case
Let each man give attendance in his place!
Thus, if a king were coming, would we do;
And twere good reason too;
For tis a duteous thing
To show all honour to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
But at the coming of the King of Heaven
Alls set at six and seven;
We wallow in our sin,
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain Him always like a stranger,
And, as at first, still lodge Him in the manger.
Song of Mary the Mother of
Christ (London: E. Allde), 1601
HIERUSALEM, my happy home,
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbour of the Saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.
There lust and lucre cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,
But pleasure every way.
Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;
Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare.
Thy turrets and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles do shine;
Thy very streets are paved with gold,
Surpassing clear and fine.
Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,
Thy joys that I might see!
Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.
Quite through the streets, with silver sound,
The flood of Life doth flow;
Upon whose banks on every side
The wood of Life doth grow.
There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,
And evermore do sing.
Our Lady sings Magnificat
With tones surpassing sweet;
And all the virgins bear their part,
Sitting about her feet.
Hierusalem, my happy home,
Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,/
Thy joys that I might see!
Robert Joness Second Book of
Songs and Airs, 1601
LOVE wingd my Hopes and taught me how to fly
Far from base earth, but not to mount too high:
For true pleasure
Lives in measure,
Which if men forsake,
Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.
But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,
Enamourd sought to woo the suns fair light,
Whose rich brightness
Moved their lightness
To aspire so high
That, all scorchd and consumed with fire, now drownd in
woe they lie.
And none but Love their woeful hap did rue,
For Love did know that their desires were true;
Though Fate frownàed,
And now drownàed
They in sorrow dwell,
It was the purest light of heavn for whose fair love they fell.
Davisons Poetical Rhapsody, 1602
MY Love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her;
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on:
But Beautys self she is
When all her robes are gone.
Davisons Poetical Rhapsody, 1602
AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated
With prayers oft repeated!
Yet still my love is thwarted:
Heart, let her go, for shell not be converted
Say, shall she go?
O no, no, no, no, no!
She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.
How often have my sighs declared my anguish,
Wherein I daily languish!
Yet still she doth procure it:
Heart, let her go, for I can not endure it
Say, shall she go?
O no, no, no, no, no!
She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.
But shall I still a true affection owe her,
Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her,
And shall she still disdain me?
Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me
Say, shall she go?
O no, no, no, no, no!
She made me hers, and hers she will retain me.
But if the love that hath and still doth burn me
No love at length return me,
Out of my thoughts Ill set her:
Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her!
Say, shall she go?
O no, no, no, no, no!
Fixd in the heart, how can the heart forget her?
John Dowlands Third and Last
Book
of Songs or Airs, 1603
WEEP you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heavens sun doth gently waste!
But my Suns heavenly eyes
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.
Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at even he sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!
Melt not in weeping,
While she lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.
John Dowlands Third and Last
Book of Songs or Airs, 1603
I SAW my Lady weep,
And Sorrow proud to be advancàed so
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
Her face was full of woe;
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.
Sorrow was there made fair,
And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;
Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare:
She made her sighs to sing,
And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
O fairer than aught else
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve!
Enough, enough: your joyful look excels:
Tears kill the heart, believe.
O strive not to be excellent in woe,
Which only breeds your beautys overthrow.
Thomas Batesons First Set of
English Madrigals, 1604
SISTER, awake! close not your eyes!
The day her light discloses,
And the bright morning doth arise
Out of her bed of roses.
See the clear sun, the worlds bright eye,
In at our window peeping:
Lo, how he blusheth to espy
Us idle wenches sleeping!
Therefore awake! make haste, I say,
And let us, without staying,
All in our gowns of green so gay
Into the Park a-maying!
Captain Tobias Humes The First
Part of Airs, &c., 1605
FAIN would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charmd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harmd me:
Yet when this thought doth come,
Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight,
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.
O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.
Thomas Fords Music of
Sundry Kinds, 1607
SINCE first I saw your face I resolved to honour and
renown ye;
If now I be disdainàed I wish my heart had never known ye.
What? I that loved and you that liked, shall we begin to
wrangle?
No, no, no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle.
If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive
me;
Or if my hands had strayd but a touch, then justly might
you leave me.
I askd you leave, you bade me love; is t now a time to chide
me?
No, no, no, Ill love you still what fortune eer betide me.
The Sun, whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no
beholder,
And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the
bolder:
Where beauty moves and wit delights and signs of kindness
bind me,
There, O there, whereer I go Ill leave my heart behind me!
Thomas Fords Music of
Sundry Kinds, 1607
THERE is a Lady sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleased my mind;
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her till I die.
Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,
Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
And yet I love her till I die.
Cupid is wingàed and doth range,
Her country so my love doth change:
But change she earth, or change she sky,
Yet will I love her till I die.
John Wilbyes Second Set of Madrigals, 1609
LOVE not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for a constant heart:
For these may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep, therefore, a true womans eye,
And love me still but know not why
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever!
John Attyes First Book of Airs, 1622
ON a time the amorous Silvy
Said to her shepherd, Sweet, how do ye?
Kiss me this once and then God be wi ye,
My sweetest dear!
Kiss me this once and then God be wi ye,
For now the morning draweth near.
With that, her fairest bosom showing,
Opning her lips, rich perfumes blowing,
She said, Now kiss me and be going,
My sweetest dear!
Kiss me this once and then be going,
For now the morning draweth near.
With that the shepherd waked from sleeping,
And spying where the day was peeping,
He said, Now take my soul in keeping,
My sweetest dear!
Kiss me and take my soul in keeping,
Since I must go, now day is near.
Table of Contents Previous Chapter Next Chapter