Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
Fa la la!
For youth it well beseemeth That pleasure he esteemeth.
Fa la la!
And sullen age is hated That mirth would have abated.
Fa la la!
From JOHN DOWLAND's _Second Book of Songs or Airs_, 1600.
White as lilies was her face: When she smiled She beguiled, Quitting faith with foul disgrace.
Virtue's service thus neglected.
Heart with sorrows hath infected.
When I swore my heart her own, She disdained; I complained, Yet she left me overthrown: Careless of my bitter grieving, Ruthless, bent to no relieving.
Vows and oaths and faith a.s.sured, Constant ever, Changing never,-- Yet she could not be procured To believe my pains exceeding From her scant respect proceeding.
O that love should have the art, By surmises, And disguises, To destroy a faithful heart; Or that wanton-looking women Should reward their friends as foemen.
All in vain is ladies' love-- Quickly choosed.
Shortly loosed; For their pride is to remove.
Out, alas! their looks first won us, And their pride hath straight undone us.
To thyself, the sweetest Fair!
Thou hast wounded, And confounded Changeless faith with foul despair; And my service hast envied And my succours hast denied.
By thine error thou hast lost Heart unfeigned, Truth unstained.
And the swain that loved most, More a.s.sured in love than many, Move despised in love than any.
For my heart, though set at nought, Since you will it, Spoil and kill it!
I will never change my thought: But grieve that beauty e'er was born Thus to answer love with scorn.
From FRANCIS PILKINGTON's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1605.
Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay: The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers, Clips thee likewise for fear thou pa.s.s away; Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet; Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings!
Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs, And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
See how the helitrope, herb of the sun, Though he himself long since be gone to bed, Is not of force thine eye's bright beams to shun, But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread, And on my knee invites thee rest thy head.
Stay but awhile, Ph[oe]be no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I'll my Ph[oe]be kiss.
From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.
Who likes to love, let him take heed!
And wot you why?
Among the G.o.ds it is decreed That Love shall die; And every wight that takes his part Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.
The cause is this, as I have heard: A sort of dames, Whose beauty he did not regard Nor secret flames, Complained before the G.o.ds above That gold corrupts the G.o.d of love.
The G.o.ds did storm to hear this news, And there they swore, That sith he did such dames abuse He should no more Be G.o.d of love, but that he should Both die and forfeit all his gold.
His bow and shafts they took away Before his eyes, And gave these dames a longer day For to devise Who should them keep, and they be bound That love for gold should not be found.
These ladies striving long, at last They did agree To give them to a maiden chaste, Whom I did see, Who with the same did pierce my breast: Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.
From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.
1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough And fall in love?
2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow The G.o.ds above.
1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess; One such as hath no peer, I guess.
1. What is her name who bears thy heart Within her breast?
2. Silvana fair, of high desert, Whom I love best.
1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high.
2. Yet love I must, or else I die.
From THOMAS BATESON's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1604.
Who prostrate lies at women's feet.
And calls them darlings dear and sweet; Protesting love, and craving grace, And praising oft a foolish face; Are oftentimes deceived at last, Then catch at nought and hold it fast.
From JOHN FARMER's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1599.
Who would have thought that face of thine Had been so full of doubleness, Or that within those crystal eyn Had been so much unstableness?
Thy face so fair, thy look so strange!
Who would have thought of such a change?
From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
Why are you Ladies staying, And your Lords gone a-maying?
Run apace and meet them And with your garlands greet them.
'Twere pity they should miss you, For they will sweetly kiss you.
From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me Of my heart and so leave me?
Farewell!
But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel, Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel!
Farewell!
