The firste booke of Songes or Ayres of fowre partes with Tableture for the Lute So made that all the partes together, or either of them seuerally may be song to the Lute, Orpherian or Viol de gambo. Composed by John Dowland ... Also an inuention by the sayd Author for two to playe vpon one Lute |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. | XII. Rest a while you cruell cares |
| XIII. |
| XIIII. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
 | The firste booke of Songes or Ayres of fowre partes with Tableture for the Lute |  |
XII. Rest a while you cruell cares
Rest a while you cruell cares,
Be not more seuere thē loue
Beauty kils & beautie spares,
& sweet smiles sad sighs remoue.
Laura fayre queen, of my delight,
Come grāt me loue in loues despite,
And if I euer faile to honor thee:
Let this heauenly sight I see,
Be as darke as hel to me.
Be not more seuere thē loue
Beauty kils & beautie spares,
& sweet smiles sad sighs remoue.
Laura fayre queen, of my delight,
Come grāt me loue in loues despite,
And if I euer faile to honor thee:
Let this heauenly sight I see,
Be as darke as hel to me.
If I speake my words want waite,
Am I mute, my hart doth breake,
If I sigh she feares deceit,
Sorrow then for me must speake:
Cruel, vnkind, with fauour view,
The wound that first was made by you:
And if my torments fained be,
Let this heauenly light I see,
Be as darke as hell to me.
Am I mute, my hart doth breake,
If I sigh she feares deceit,
Sorrow then for me must speake:
Cruel, vnkind, with fauour view,
The wound that first was made by you:
And if my torments fained be,
Let this heauenly light I see,
Be as darke as hell to me.
Neuer houre of pleasing rest,
Shall reuiue my dying ghost,
Till my soule hath repossest,
The sweet hope which loue hath lost:
Laura redeeme the soule that dies,
By fury of thy murdering eies,
And if it proues vnkind to thee,
Let this heauenly light I see,
Be as darke as hell to me.
Shall reuiue my dying ghost,
Till my soule hath repossest,
The sweet hope which loue hath lost:
Laura redeeme the soule that dies,
By fury of thy murdering eies,
And if it proues vnkind to thee,
Let this heauenly light I see,
Be as darke as hell to me.
| The firste booke of Songes or Ayres of fowre partes with Tableture for the Lute | |