Chapter 6

Pierce did love fair Petronel Because she sang and danced well And gallantly could prank it; He pulled her and he haul'd her And oftentimes he call'd her Primrose pearls prick'd in a blanket.

From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Set of Madrigals and Pastorals_, 1613.

Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears; Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears; Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed, Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled. Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears! Hold, heart, and live; mine eyes, cease off your tears.

From _Airs sung and played at Brougham Castle_, 1618, by GEORGE MASON and JOHN EARSDEN.

Robin is a lovely lad, No lass a smoother ever had; Tommy hath a look as bright As is the rosy morning light; Tib is dark and brown of hue, But like her colour firm and true; Jenny hath a lip to kiss Wherein a spring of nectar is; Simkin well his mirth can place And words to win a woman's grace; Sib is all in all to me, There is no Queen of Love but she.

From THOMAS RAVENSCROFT's _Brief Discourse_, 1614.

THE SATYRS' DANCE.

Round-a, round-a, keep your ring: To the glorious sun we sing,-- Ho, ho! He that wears the flaming rays, And th' imperial crown of bays, Him with shouts and songs we praise-- Ho, ho! That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _Canzonets_, 1593.

See, see, mine own sweet jewel, What I have for my darling: A robin-redbreast and a starling. These I give both in hope to move thee; Yet thou say'st I do not love thee.

From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.

Shall a frown or angry eye, Shall a word unfitly placed, Shall a shadow make me flie As if I were with tigers chased? Love must not be so disgraced.

Shall I woo her in despight? Shall I turn her from her flying? Shall I tempt her with delight? Shall I laugh at her denying? No: beware of lovers' crying.

Shall I then with patient mind Still attend her wayward pleasure? Time will make her prove more kind, Let her coyness then take leisure: She is worthy such a treasure.

From RICHARD ALISON's _An Hours Recreation in Music_, 1606.

Shall I abide this jesting? I weep, and she's a-feasting! O cruel fancy, that so doth blind me To love one that doth not mind me!

Can I abide this prancing? I weep, and she's a-dancing! O cruel fancy, so to betray me! Thou goest about to slay me.

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

Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee When the evening beams are set? Shall I not excluded be, Will you find no feigned let? Let me not, for pity, more Tell the long hours at your door.

Who can tell what thief or foe, In the covert of the night, For his prey will work my woe, Or through wicked foul despite? So may I die unredrest Ere my long love be possest.

But to let such dangers pass, Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 'Tis enough in such a place To attend love's joys in vain: Do not mock me in thy bed, While these cold nights freeze me dead.

From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).

Shall I look to ease my grief? No, my sight is lost with eying: Shall I speak and beg relief? No, my voice is hoarse with crying: What remains but only dying?

Love and I of late did part, But the boy, my peace envying, Like a Parthian threw his dart Backward, and did wound me flying: What remains but only dying?

She whom then I looked on, My remembrance beautifying, Stays with me though I am gone, Gone and at her mercy lying: What remains but only dying?

Shall I try her thoughts and write? No I have no means of trying: If I should, yet at first sight She would answer with denying: What remains but only dying?

Thus my vital breath doth waste, And, my blood with sorrow drying, Sighs and tears make life to last For a while, their place supplying: What remains but only dying?

From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Airs_, 1601.

She whose matchless beauty staineth What best judgment fair'st maintaineth, She, O she, my love disdaineth.

Can a creature, so excelling, Harbour scorn in beauty's dwelling, All kind pity thence expelling?

Pity beauty much commendeth And th' embracer oft befriendeth When all eye-contentment endeth.

Time proves beauty transitory; Scorn, the stain of beauty's glory, In time makes the scorner sorry.

None adores the sun declining; Love all love falls to resigning When the sun of love leaves shining.

So, when flower of beauty fails thee, And age, stealing on, assails thee, Then mark what this scorn avails thee.

Then those hearts, which now complaining Feel the wounds of thy disdaining, Shall contemn thy beauty waning.

Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prized, Shall with spite and grief surprised Burst to find itself despised.

When like harms have them requited Who in others' harms delighted, Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.

Such revenge my wrongs attending, Hope still lives on time depending, By thy plagues thy torrents ending.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.

Shoot, false Love! I care not; Spend thy shafts and spare not! Fa la la! I fear not, I, thy might, And less I weigh thy spite; All naked I unarm me,-- If thou canst, now shoot and harm me! So lightly I esteem thee As now a child I dream thee. Fa la la la!

Long thy bow did fear[13] me, While thy pomp did blear me; Fa la la! But now I do perceive Thy art is to deceive; And every simple lover All thy falsehood can discover. Then weep, Love! and be sorry, For thou hast lost thy glory. Fa la la la!

[13] Frighten.

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

Silly boy! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly; Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly. Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereaved, Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstained, All is artless now you speak, not one word is feigned; All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed, But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.

Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected, And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected; Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy And with sighs confess, 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 fatal thunder: He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying, Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying.

From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.

Simkin said that Sis was fair, And that he meant to love her; He set her on his ambling mare,-- All this he did to prove her.

When they came home Sis floted cream And poured it through a strainer, But sware that Simkin should have none Because he did disdain her.

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

Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye, If now I be disdained 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 strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me. I asked you leave, you bade me love; is't now a time to chide me? No no no, I'll love you still what fortune e'er 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! where'er I go I'll leave my heart behind me.

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

Sing we and chant it While love doth grant it. Fa la la!

Not long youth lasteth, And old age hasteth. Fa la la!

Now is best leisure To take our pleasure. Fa la la!

All things invite us Now to delight us. Fa la la!

Hence care be packing, No mirth be lacking. Fa la la!

Let spare no treasure To live in pleasure. Fa la la!

From THOMAS BATESON's _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 world's 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.

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

Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me! For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? It shall suffice me here to sit and see Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke: What sight can more content a lover's mind Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?

My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps, Though guilty much of wrong done to my love; And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps: Dreams often more than waking passions move. Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: That she in peace may wake and pity me.

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

So light is love, in matchless beauty shining, When he revisits Cypris' hallowed bowers, Two feeble doves, harness'd in silken twining, Can draw his chariot midst the Paphian flowers, Lightness in love! how ill it fitteth! So heavy on my heart he sitteth.

From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.

Some can flatter, some can feign, Simple truth shall plead for me; Let not beauty truth disdain, Truth is even as fair as she.

But since pairs must equal prove, Let my strength her youth oppose, Love her beauty, faith her love; On even terms so may we close.

Cork or lead in equal weight Both one just proportion yield, So may breadth be peis'd[14] with height, Steepest mount with plainest field.

Virtues have not all one kind, Yet all virtues merit be, Divers virtues are combined; Differing so, deserts agree.

Let then love and beauty meet, Making one divine concent Constant as the sounds and sweet, That enchant the firmament.

[14] Balanced.

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

Sweet, come again! Your happy sight, so much desired Since you from hence are now retired, I seek in vain: Still I must mourn, And pine in longing pain, Till you, my life's delight, again Vouchsafe your wish'd 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[15] keep! And let 't 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.

[15] Old ed. "do you keep it."

From WILLIAM CORKINE's _Airs_, 1610.

Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire, Thy joyful harvest may begin; If age approach a little nigher, 'Twill be too late to get it in.

Cold Winter storms lay standing Corn, Which once too ripe will never rise, And lovers wish themselves unborn, When all their joys lie in their eyes.

Then, sweet, let us embrace and kiss: Shall beauty shale[16] upon the ground? If age bereave us of this bliss, Then will no more such sport be found.

[16] Shell, husk (as peas).

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.

Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep When lovers wanton sports do keep? The sun doth shine, the birds do sing, And May delight and joy doth bring: Then join we hands and dance till night, 'Tis pity love should want his right.

From ROBERT JONES' _Musical Dream_, 1609.

Sweet Kate Of late Ran away and left me plaining. Abide! (I cried) Or I die with thy disdaining. Te hee, quoth she; Make no fool of me; Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure, But, their hopes attained, They bewray they feigned, And their oaths are kept at leisure.

Unkind, I find Thy delight is in tormenting: Abide! (I cried) Or I die with thy consenting. Te hee, quoth she, Make no fool of me; Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure, But, their hopes attained, They bewray they feigned, And their oaths are kept at leisure.

Her words, Like swords, Cut my sorry heart in sunder, Her flouts With doubts Kept my heart-affections under. Te hee, quoth she, What a fool is he Stands in awe of once denying! Cause I had enough To become more rough, So I did--O happy trying!

From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.

Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry; Out of thy golden quiver, Take thou thy strongest arrow That will through bone and marrow, And me and thee of grief and fear deliver: But come behind, for, if she look upon thee, Alas! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.

Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee, Nor with my voice accuse thee; But tune my notes unto thy praise And tell the world Love ne'er decays. Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish: What wanteth concord soon must perish.

From ROBERT JONES' _Ultimum Vale, or Third Book of Airs_ (1608).

Sweet Love, my only treasure, For service long unfeigned Wherein I nought have gained, Vouchsafe this little pleasure, To tell me in what part My Lady keeps her heart.

If in her hair so slender, Like golden nets entwined Which fire and art have fined, Her thrall my heart I render For ever to abide With locks so dainty tied.

If in her eyes she bind it, Wherein that fire was framed By which it is inflamed, I dare not look to find it: I only wish it sight To see that pleasant light.

But if her breast have deigned With kindness to receive it, I am content to leave it Though death thereby were gained: Then, Lady, take your own That lives by you alone.

From JOHN DOWLAND's _Pilgrim's Solace_, 1612. (The first stanza is found in a poem of Donne.)

Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise? The light you see comes from your eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, To think that you and I must part. O stay! or else my joys must die And perish in their infancy.

Dear, let me die in this fair breast, Far sweeter than the ph[oe]nix nest. Love raise Desire by his sweet charms Within this circle of thine arms! And let thy blissful kisses cherish Mine infant joys that else must perish.

From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.

_Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o._

Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight With feathers like a lady bright, Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night, Te whit, te whoo! Thy note, that forth so freely rolls, With shrill command the mouse controls, And sings a dirge for dying souls, Te whit, te whoo!

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

Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever! No better pledge can love to love deliver. Fear not, my dear, it will not fly away, For hope and love command my heart to stay. But if thou doubt, desire will make it range: Love but my heart, my heart will never change.

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

Take time while time doth last, Mark how fair fadeth fast; Beware if envy reign, Take heed of proud disdain; Hold fast now in thy youth, Regard thy vowed truth, Lest, when thou waxeth old, Friends fail and love grow cold.

From _Deuteromelia_, 1609.

The Fly she sat in shamble-row And shambled with her heels I trow;

And then came in Sir Cranion With legs so long and many a one;

And said "Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly": "Marry, you be welcome, Sir," quoth she:

"The master Humble Bee hath sent me to thee To wit and if you will his true love be."

But she said "Nay, that may not be, For I must have the Butterfly,

For and a greater lord there may not be." But at the last consent did she.

And there was bid to this wedding All Flies in the field and Worms creeping.

The Snail she came crawling all over the plain, With all her jolly trinkets in her train.

Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold, And all the rest did them behold;

But the Thornbud refused this sight to see, And to a cow-plat away flies she.

But where now shall this wedding be?-- For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree.

And where now shall we bake our bread?-- For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head.

And where now shall we brew our ale?-- But even within one walnut-shale.

And also where shall we our dinner make?-- But even upon a galled horse-back:

For there we shall have good company With humbling and bumbling and much melody.

When ended was this wedding-day, The Bee he took his Fly away,

And laid her down upon the marsh Between one marigold and the long grass.

And there they begot good master gnat And made him the heir of all,--that's flat.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.

_Audivere, Lyce_.--HORACE.

The gods have heard my vows, Fond Lyce, whose fair brows Wont scorn with such disdain My love, my tears, my pain. Fa la!

But now those spring-tide roses Are turn'd to winter-posies, To rue and thyme and sage, Fitting thy shrivell'd age. Fa la!

Now, youths, with hot desire See, see, that flameless fire, Which erst your hearts so burned, Quick into ashes turned. Fa la!

From _Pammelia_, 1609

_The household-bird with the red stomacher._--DONNE.

The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best; Yet merrily sings little Robin, pretty Robin with the red breast.

From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.

The love of change hath changed the world throughout, And what is counted good but that is strange? New things wax old, old new, all turns about, And all things change except the love of change. Yet find I not that love of change in me, But as I am so will I always be.

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

The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall, The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat; And slender hairs cast shadows, though but small, And bees have stings, although they be not great; Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs; And love is love, in beggars and in kings!

Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords; The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move; The firmest faith is in the fewest words; The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love; True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak; They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break!

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

The man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is free From all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity;

The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude Nor sorrow discontent:

That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence:

He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies.

Thus scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heaven his book, His wisdom heavenly things;

Good thoughts his only friends, His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage.

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

The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure Doth stoop in hope to have her wished prey; So many men do stoop to sights unsure, And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay: Let them beware lest friendly looks be like The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike.

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

The match that's made for just and true respects, With evenness both of years and parentage, Of force must bring forth many good effects. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

For where chaste love and liking sets the plant, And concord waters with a firm good-will, Of no good thing there can be any want. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

Sound is the knot that Chastity hath tied, Sweet is the music Unity doth make, Sure is the store that Plenty doth provide. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

Where Chasteness fails there Concord will decay, Where Concord fleets there Plenty will decease, Where Plenty wants there Love will wear away. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

I, Chastity, restrain all strange desires; I, Concord, keep the course of sound consent; I, Plenty, spare and spend as cause requires. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

Make much of us, all ye that married be; Speak well of us, all ye that mind to be; The time may come to want and wish all three. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

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

The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay In greenwood groves delights to make his dwelling, In fields to fly, chanting his roundelay, At liberty, against the cage rebelling; But my poor heart with sorrows over swelling, Through bondage vile, binding my freedom short, No pleasure takes in these his sports excelling, Nor in his song receiveth no comfort.

From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604. (By Sir Philip Sidney.)

The Nightingale, so soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, White late-bare earth proud of her clothing springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her songbook making; And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth: While grief her heart oppresseth, For Tereus' force o'er her chaste will prevailing.