Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 9

Much ado there was, G.o.d wot!

He would love and she would not.

She said, never man was true; He said, none was false to you.

He said, he had loved her long; She said, Love should have no wrong.

Corydon would kiss her then; She said, maids must kiss no men Till they did for good and all; Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness truth Never lov'd a truer youth.

Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea and nay, and faith and troth, Such as seely shepherds use When they will not love abuse, Love, which had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded; And Phillida with garlands gay Was made the Lady of the May.

From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs of Sundry Kinds_, 1604.

Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave, For wanting her I must embrace my grave; A little grave will ease my malady And set me free from love's fell tyranny.

Intomb me then and show her where I lie, And say I died through her inconstancy.

From HENRY LICHFILD's _First Set of Madrigals_, 1613.

Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me, With speedy wings you fly and so release me; But if some sorrow do oppress my heart, You creep as if you never meant to part.

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

Is Love a boy,--what means he then to strike?

Or is he blind,--why will he be a guide?

Is he a man,--why doth he hurt his like?

Is he a G.o.d,--why doth he men deride?

No one of these, but one compact of all: A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows, Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall, A G.o.d that rules unruly--G.o.d, he knows.

Boy, pity me that am a child again; Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray; Man, use thy might to force away my pain; G.o.d, do me good and lead me to my way; And if thou beest a power to me unknown, Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown.

From _Melismata_, 1611.

THE MARRIAGE OF THE FROG AND THE MOUSE.

It was the frog in the well, Humbledum, humbledum, And the merry mouse in the mill, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

The frog would a wooing ride Sword and buckler by his side.

When he upon his high horse set, His boots they shone as black as jet.

When he came to the merry mill-pin,-- "Lady Mouse, been you within?"

Then came out the dusty mouse: "I am Lady of this house:

Hast thou any mind of me?"

"I have e'en great mind of thee?"

"Who shall this marriage make?"

"Our Lord which is the rat,"

"What shall we have to our supper?"

"Three beans in a pound of b.u.t.ter?"

When supper they were at, The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat;

Then came in Gib our cat, And catched the mouse e'en by the back.

Then did they separate, And the frog leaped on the floor so flat.

Then came in d.i.c.k our drake, And drew the frog e'en to the lake.

The rat run up the wall, Humbledum, humbledum; A goodly company, the Devil go with all!

Tweedle tweedle twino.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Jack and Joan, they think no ill, But loving live, and merry still; Do their week-days' work, and pray Devoutly on the holy day: Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the Summer Queen; 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; Climb up to the apple loft, And turn 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 yearly rent.

Joan can call by name her cows And deck her windows with green boughs; She can wreaths and tutties[9] make, And trim with plums a bridal cake.

Jack knows what brings gain or loss; And his long flail can stoutly toss: Makes the hedge which others break, And ever thinks what he doth speak.

Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange delights; Though you scorn the homespun gray And revel in your rich array; Though your tongues dissemble deep, And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain.

[9] Nosegays.

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

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers, From their own music when they stray.

All her free favours and smooth words Wing my hopes in vain.

O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign?

Can true love yield such delay, Converting joy to pain?

Lost is our freedom When we submit to women so: Why do we need 'em When, in their best, they work our woe?

There is no wisdom Can alter ends by Fate prefixt.

O, why is the good of man with evil mixt?

Never were days yet called two But one night went betwixt.

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

Kind in unkindness, when will you relent And cease with faint love true love to torment?

Still entertained, excluded still I stand; Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand.

In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest: O might my fortunes with that hand be blest!