Songs of 4. Voyces
[VII. Liue not poore bloome]
Liue not poore bloome, but perish
Liue not poore bloome, but perish, Whose Spring frosty
Winter blasteth, Other buds fresh Mayes doe cherish, Hyems
o're thee his snow casteth, And in wither'd armes thee graspeth,
Tyrants, nothing worse you can, Now my liuely body's yoaked, to the dead corps of a man, Thus with
loathed burden choked, Lingering death with teares inuoked.
[VIII. The Nightingale in silent night]
The Nightingale in silent night
The Nightingale in silent night, Doth sing as
well as in the light, To lull loues watchfull eyes asleepe, She doth
such nightly sonnets keepe, Hey hoe, Sing we with all, What fortune vs so ere befall.
Hey hoe, Sing we with all, What fortune vs so ere befall.
[IX. Oh, what is she]
Oh, what is she, what is she
Oh, what is she, what is she, Whose lookes like lightnings pierce thus suddenly my brest,
Scorching no skinne? Yet oh yet oh, yet
oh, yet oh, my heart burnes with a fire fierce, The flames ascending,
in my face are seene, Yet courage man, Her speaking eye doth shew, Some fire remaines, from
whence those lightnings flew.
[X. See forth her eyes]
See forth her eyes her startled spirit
peepes
See forth her eyes her startled spirit
peepes, Which now she on me, straight she off me keepes, Not able
long, lookes off, lookes on, doth blush, doth tremble, Sweet wretch she
would, but cannot loue dissemble, but cannot loue dissemble, not
loue dissemble, Happy euent, Whats lingering is but sleight, Who euer lou'd that lou'd not at first sight?
[XI. When to the gloomie woods]
When to the gloomie woods
When to the gloomie woods, When to the barren plaine,
When to the stony rocks and sullen floods, I wayling often
goe, and of my Loue complaine, How senceles then thinke
I, By loue I grow, To senceles things that tell my woe? Yet these my piercing moanes,
haue touched oft so nye, That they to me replie, But
cruell, cruell she, More senceles then hard stones, Quite senceles of my paine, No answer
giues, Vnmoued still remaines.
[XII. I floods of teares could clense my follies past]
I floods of teares could clense my follies past
I floods of teares could clense my follies past, Or
smokes of sighes might sacrifice for sinne, If groning cries
might salue my faults at last, Or endlesse moane for errour pardon winne: Then
would I cry, weepe, sigh, and euer moane, Mine errours, faults, sinnes, follies, past and
gone, follies past and gone. Then would I cry, weepe, sigh, and euer moane,
Mine errours, faults, sinnes, follies, past and gone, follies past and gone.
