Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c.

If Music and sweet Poetry agree; As they must needs, the sister and the brother: Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me! Because thou lov'st the one; and I, the other. Dowland to thee, is dear; whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense: Spenser, to me; whose deep conceit is such As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound That Phœbus's Lute, the Queen of Music, makes: And I, in deep delight, am chiefly drowned When as himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as Poets feign: One knight loves both, and both in thee remain!

Famam, posteritas quam dedit Orpheo. Dolandi melius Musica dat sibi, Fugaces reprimens archetypis sonos; Quas et delitias præbuit auribus, Ipsis conspicuas luminibus facit.

Vnquiet thoughts! your civil slaughter stint! And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart! And you, my tongue! that makes my mouth a mint, And stamps my thoughts, to coin them words by art, Be still! For if you ever do the like, I'll cut the string, that makes the hammer strike! But what can stay my thoughts, they may not start? Or put my tongue in durance for to die? When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart Open the lock, where all my love doth lie. I'll seal them up within their lids for ever! So thoughts and words and looks shall die together. How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes? My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break. My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies; If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak. Speak then! and tell the passions of Desire! Which turns mine eyes to floods, my thoughts to fire.

Whoever thinks, or hopes of love for love? Or who beloved, in Cupid's laws doth glory? Who joys in vows, or vows not to remove: Who, by this light god, hath not been made sorry? Let him see me! eclipsed from my sun; With dark clouds of an earth, quite overrun. Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden, Or humble faith in constant honour armed, Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden? Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed? Looking on me; let him know Love's delights Are treasures hid in caves, but kept by sprites!

My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love. Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night! And say, "As she doth in the heavens move, In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight." And whisper this, but softly, in her ears! "Hope oft doth hang the head, and Trust shed tears." And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry! If for mistrust, my mistress do you blame, Say, "Though you alter, yet you do not vary As she doth change; and yet remain the same: Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect; And love is sweetest, seasoned with suspect." If she for this, with clouds do mask her eyes, And make the heavens dark with her disdain; With windy sighs disperse them in the skies! Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain! Thoughts, Hopes, and Love return to me no more, Till Cynthia shine, as she hath done before!

If My complaints could passions move, Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong; My passions were enough to prove That my despairs had governed me too long. O Love, I live and die in thee! Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me! Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks, Yet thou dost hope when I despair! My heart for thy unkindness breaks! Thou say'st, "Thou can'st my harms repair." And when I hope: thou mak'st me hope in vain! Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain! Can Love be rich, and yet I want? Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned? Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant! Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned! That I do live, it is thy power! That I desire, it is thy worth! If love doth make men's lives too sour, Let me not love, nor live henceforth! Die shall my hopes, but not my faith, That you, that of my fall may hearers be, May hear Despair, which truly saith, "I was more true to Love, than Love to me."

Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak? Shall I call her good, when she proves unkind? Are those clear fires, which vanish into smoke? Must I praise the leaves, where no fruit I find? No! No! Where shadows do for bodies stand, Thou may'st be abused, if thy sight be dim. Cold love is like to words written on sand; Or to bubbles, which on the water swim. Wilt thou be abused still, Seeing that she will right thee never? If thou can'st not o'ercome her will, Thy love will be thus fruitless ever! Was I so base, that I might not aspire, Unto those high joys, which she holds from me? As they are high, so high is my desire, If she this deny, what can granted be? If she will yield to that which reason is, It is Reason's will, that Love should be just. Dear! make me happy still, by granting this, Or cut off delays, if that die I must! Better a thousand times to die, Than for to live thus still tormented: Dear! but remember it was I, Who, for thy sake, did die contented.

Now, O now, I needs must part, Parting, though I absent mourn; Absence can no joy impart, Joy once fled, cannot return. While I live, I needs must love, Love lives not, when hope is gone. Now at last despair doth prove Love divided, loveth none. Sad despair doth drive me hence, This despair, unkindness sends; If that parting be offence, It is she which then offends. Dear! when I from thee am gone, Gone are all my joys at once. I loved thee, and thee alone! In whose love I joyed once: And although your sight I leave, Sight wherein my joys do lie; Till that death do sense bereave, Never shall affection die! Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c. Dear! if I do not return, Love and I shall die together. For my absence never mourn! Whom you might have joyed ever. Part we must, though now I die, Die I do, to part with you: Him despair doth cause to lie Who both lived and dieth true. Sad despair doth drive me hence, &c.

Dear, if you change! I'll never choose again. Sweet, if you shrink! I'll never think of love. Fair, if you fail! I'll judge all beauty vain. Wise, if too weak! more wits I'll never prove. Dear! sweet! fair! wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak; And, on my faith! my faith shall never break. Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn; Heaven her bright stars, through earth's dim globe shall move. Fire, heat shall lose; and frosts, of flames be born; Air made to shine, as black as hell shall prove: Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view, Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you!

Burst forth my tears! Assist my forward grief! And show what pain, imperious love provokes! Kind tender lambs, lament love's scant relief, And pine, since pensive care my freedom yokes. O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks! Sad pining Care, that never may have peace, At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks; And Mercy sleeps while deep disdains increase; And Beauty, hope in her fair bosom yokes, O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks! Like to the winds, my sighs have wingèd been, Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks; I plead, yet she repineth at my teen. O ruthless rigour! harder than the rocks! That both the shepherd kills, and his poor flocks.

O Crystal tears! like to the morning showers. And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast! And as the dews revive the drooping flowers, So let your drops of pity be addresst! To quicken up the thoughts of my desert. Which sleeps too sound; whilst I from her depart. Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart! Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death, Feels never any touch of my desert. Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice: Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes.

Think'st thou, then, by feigning Sleep, with a grand disdaining; Or, with thy crafty closing, Thy cruel eyes reposing; To drive me from thy sight! When sleep yields more delight, Such harmless beauty gracing: And while sleep feignèd is May not I steal a kiss Thy quiet arms embracing? O that thy sleep dissembled, Were to a trance resembled! Thy cruel eyes deceiving, Of lively sense bereaving: Then should my love requite Thy love's unkind despite, While fury triumphed boldly In beauty's sweet disgrace; And lived in deep embrace Of her that loved so coldly, Should then my love aspiring, Forbidden joys desiring, So far exceed the duty That Virtue owes to Beauty? No! Love seek not thy bliss Beyond a simple kiss! For such deceits are harmless Yet kiss a thousand fold; For kisses may be bold When lovely sleep is armless.

Come away! come, sweet love! The golden morning breaks; All the earth, all the air, Of love and pleasure speaks! Teach thine arms then to embrace, And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual bliss! Eyes were made for beauty's grace Viewing, ruing, love's long pains; Procured by beauty's rude disdain. Come away! come, sweet love! Do not in vain adorn Beauty's grace, that should rise Like to the naked morn! Lilies on the river's side, And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown, Desire no beauties but their own: Ornament is Nurse of Pride. Pleasure measure, love's delight, Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!

Rest awhile, you cruel cares! Be not more severe than love! Beauty kills and beauty spares, And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove. Laura, fair Queen of my delight! Come grant me love, in love's despite! And if I ever fail to honour thee, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me! If I speak! My words want weight. Am I mute! My heart doth break. If I sigh! She fears deceit. Sorrow then for me, must speak! Cruel! unkind! with favour view The wound that first was made by you! And if my torments feignèd be, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me! Never hour of pleasing rest, Shall revive my dying ghost, Till my soul hath repossesst The sweet hope, which love hath lost: Laura! redeem the soul that dies By fury of thy murdering eyes! And if it proves unkind to thee, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as dark as hell to me!

Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love! Let not my Love, be with my love diseased! Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move! But pine you with my longings long displeased: Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake, So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake. But O, the fury of my restless fear! The hidden anguish of my flesh desires! The glories and the beauties that appear Between her brows, near Cupid's closèd fires! Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake, So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake. My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest; Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure; Peace in my Love, and yet my love opprest; Impatient, yet of perfect temperature. Sleep dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake! So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.

All ye, whom love or fortune hath betrayed! All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief! All ye whose hopes are evermore delayed! All ye whose sighs or sickness want relief! Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man! That sings my sorrows like the dying swan! Care that consumes the heart with inward pain, Pain that presents sad care in outward view; Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain, But still in vain, for none my plaints will rue: Tears, sighs, and ceaseless cries alone I spend. My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow, end.

Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me Of my heart, and so leave me? Farewell! But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel! Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel! Farewell! Hope by disdain grows cheerless Fear doth love, love doth fear Beauty peerless. Farewell! If no delays can move thee! Life shall die, death shall live Still to love thee. Farewell! Yet be thou mindful ever! Heat from fire, fire from heat, None can sever. Farewell! True love cannot be changed, Though delight from desert Be estranged. Farewell!

Would my conceit that first inforced my woe, Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase, Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so; Which now are such, as nothing can release. Whose life is death; whose sweet, each change of sour; And eke whose hell reneweth every hour. Each hour, amidst the deep of hell I fry, Each hour, I waste and wither where I sit; But that sweet hour, wherein I wish to die, My hope, alas, may not enjoy it yet. Whose hope is such bereaved of the bliss, Which unto all, save me, allotted is. To all, save me, is free to live or die; To all, save me, remaineth hap or hope. But all, perforce, I must abandon! Since Fortune still directs my hap aslope; Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust, But to my thrals I yield: for so I must.

Come again! Sweet love doth now invite Thy graces that refrain To do me due delight; To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy! Come again! that I may cease to mourn Through thy unkind disdain! For now, left and forlorn, I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die In deadly pain, and endless misery. All the day, the sun that lends me shine By frowns doth cause me pine, And feeds me with delay. Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow: Her frowns, the winters of my woe. All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams, My eyes are full of streams; My heart takes no delight To see the fruits and joys that some do find, And mark the storms are me assigned. Out, alas! my faith is ever true; Yet she will never rue, Nor yield me any grace. Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made: Whom tears nor truth may once invade. Gentle Love draw forth thy wounding dart! Thou can'st not pierce her heart! For I (that do approve By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts) Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs.

His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned. O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing! His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing. Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen; Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green. His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees, And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms; A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms: But though from Court to cottage he depart, His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits, in homely cell, H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song; Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well! Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong! Goddess! Allow this aged man his right! To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight.

Awake, sweet love! Thou art returned! My heart, which long in absence mourned, Lives now in perfect joy. Only herself hath seemèd fair; She only could I love. She only drave me to despair, When she unkind did prove. Let love which never, absent, dies; Now live for ever in her eyes! Whence came my first annoy: Despair did make me wish to die That I my joys might end, She only, which did make me fly, My state may now amend. If she esteem thee now ought worth; She will not grieve thy love henceforth! Which so despair hath proved. Despair hath proved now in me That love will not unconstant be, Though long in vain I loved. If she, at last, reward thy love And all thy harms repair! Thy happiness will sweeter prove, Raised up from deep despair. And if that now thou welcome be, When thou with her doth meet; She all this while, but played with thee, To make thy joys more sweet.

Come, heavy Sleep! the Image of true Death! And close up these my weary weeping eyes! Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath, And tears my heart with sorrow's sigh-swollen cries. Come, and possess my tired thoughts! worn soul! That living dies, till thou on me bestoule! Come, Shadow of my End; and Shape of Rest! Allied to Death, Child to this black-fast Night! Come thou, and charm these rebels in my breast! Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright. O come, sweet Sleep! Come, or I die for ever! Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never!

Away with these self-loving lads, Whom Cupid's arrow never glads! Away poor souls that sigh and weep, In love of them that lie and sleep! For Cupid is a meadow god, And forceth none to kiss the rod. God Cupid's shaft, like Destiny, Doth either good or ill decree; Desert is borne out of his bow, Reward upon his feet doth go. What fools are they, that have not known That Love likes no laws, but his own! My songs, they be Cynthia's praise: I wear her rings on holidays. On every tree, I write her name, And every day I read the same: Where Honour, Cupid's rival is, There miracles are seen of his. If Cynthia crave her ring of me, I'll blot her name out of the tree! If doubt do darken things held dear, Then "Well fare nothing!" once a year: For many run, but one must win. Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in! The worth that worthiness should move Is love; which is the bow of Love: And love as well the For'ster can, As can the mighty Nobleman. Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be! Yet, without love, nought worth to me!