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The Works of Thomas Campion

Complete Songs, Masques, and Treatises with a Selection of the Latin Verse: Edited with an introduction and notes by Walter R. Davis

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[Songs of 4. Parts.]
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[Songs of 4. Parts.]

I.

[Author of light, revive my dying spright]

Author of light, revive my dying spright,
Redeeme it from the snares of all-confounding night.
Lord, light me to thy blessed way:
For, blinde with worldly vaine desires, I wander as a stray.
Sunne and Moone, Starres and underlights I see,
But all their glorious beames are mists and darknes, being compar'd to thee.
Fountaine of health, my soules deepe wounds recure,
Sweet showres of pitty raine, wash my uncleannesse pure.
One drop of thy desired grace
The faint and fading hart can raise, and in joyes bosome place.
Sinne and Death, Hell and tempting Fiends may rage;
But God his owne will guard, and their sharp paines and griefe in time asswage.

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II.

[The man of life upright]

The man of life upright,
Whose chearfull minde is free
From waight of impious deedes,
And yoake of vanitee,
The man whose silent dayes
In harmelesse joyes are spent:
Whom hopes cannot delude,
Nor sorrowes discontent,
That man needes neyther towres,
Nor armour for defence:
Nor vaults his guilt to shrowd
From thunders violence;
Hee onely can behold
With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deepe,
And terrors of the Skies.
Thus, scorning all the cares
That fate or fortune brings,
His Booke the Heav'ns hee makes,
His wisedome heav'nly things.
Good thoughts his surest friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober Inne,
And quiet pilgrimage.

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III.

[Where are all thy beauties now, all harts enchayning?]

Where are all thy beauties now, all harts enchayning?
Whither are thy flatt'rers gone with all their fayning?
All fled; and thou alone still here remayning.
Thy rich state of twisted gold to Bayes is turned;
Cold as thou art, are thy loves that so much burned:
Who dye in flatt'rers armes are seldome mourned.
Yet, in spight of envie, this be still proclaymed,
That none worthyer then thy selfe thy worth hath blamed:
When their poore names are lost, thou shalt live famed.
When thy story, long time hence, shall be perused,
Let the blemish of thy rule be thus excused:
None ever liv'd more just, none more abused.

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IV.

[Out of my soules deapth to thee my cryes have sounded]

Out of my soules deapth to thee my cryes have sounded:
Let thine eares my plaints receive, on just feare grounded.
Lord, should'st thou weigh our faults, who's not confounded?
But with grace thou censur'st thine when they have erred,
Therefore shall thy blessed name be lov'd and feared:
Ev'n to thy throne my thoughts and eyes are reared.
Thee alone my hopes attend, on thee relying;
In thy sacred word I'le trust, to thee fast flying,
Long ere the Watch shall breake, the morne descrying.
In the mercies of our God who live secured,
May of full redemption rest in him assured;
Their sinne-sicke soules by him shall be recured.

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V.

[View mee, Lord, a worke of thine]

View mee, Lord, a worke of thine:
Shall I then lye drown'd in night?
Might thy grace in mee but shine,
I should seeme made all of light.
But my soule still surfets so
On the poysoned baytes of sinne,
That I strange and ugly growe,
All is darke and foule within.
Clense mee, Lord, that I may kneele
At thine Altar, pure and white:
They that once thy Mercies feele
Gaze no more on earths delight.
Worldly joyes like shadowes fade,
When the heav'nly light appeares;
But the cov'nants thou hast made,
Endlesse, know nor dayes, nor yeares.
In thy word, Lord, is my trust,
To thy mercies fast I flye;
Though I am but clay and dust,
Yet thy grace can lift me high.

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VI.

[Bravely deckt, come forth, bright day]

Bravely deckt, come forth, bright day,
Thine houres with Roses strew thy way,
As they well remember.
Thou receiv'd shalt be with feasts:
Come, chiefest of the British ghests,
Thou fift of November.
Thou with triumph shalt exceede
In the strictest ember;
For by thy returne the Lord records his blessed deede.
Britaines, frolicke at your bourd,
But first sing praises to the Lord
In your Congregations.
Hee preserv'd your state alone,
His loving grace hath made you one
Of his chosen Nations.
But this light must hallowed be
With your best Oblations;
Prayse the Lord, for onely great and mercifull is hee.
Death had enter'd in the gate,
And ruine was crept neare the State;
But heav'n all revealed.
Fi'ry Power hell did make,
Which, ready long the flame to take,
Lay in shade concealed.
God us helpt of his free grace,
None to him appealed;
For none was so bad to feare the treason or the place.
God his peacefull Monarch chose,
To him the mist he did disclose,
To him, and none other;
This hee did, O King, for thee,

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That thou thine owne renowne might'st see,
Which no time can smother.
May blest Charles thy comfort be,
Firmer then his Brother:
May his heart the love of peace, and wisedome learne from thee.

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VII.

[To Musicke bent is my retyred minde]

To Musicke bent is my retyred minde,
And faine would I some song of pleasure sing:
But in vaine joyes no comfort now I finde:
From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.
Thy power, O God, thy mercies to record
Will sweeten ev'ry note, and ev'ry word.
All earthly pompe or beauty to expresse,
Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write.
Celestiall things, though men conceive them lesse,
Yet fullest are they in themselves of light:
Such beames they yeeld as know no meanes to dye:
Such heate they cast as lifts the Spirit high.

VIII.

[Tune thy Musicke to thy hart]

Tune thy Musicke to thy hart,
Sing thy joy with thankes, and so thy sorrow:
Though Devotion needes not Art,
Sometime of the poore the rich may borrow.
Strive not yet for curious wayes:
Concord pleaseth more, the lesse 'tis strained;
Zeale affects not outward prayse,
Onely strives to shew a love unfained.
Love can wondrous things effect,
Sweetest Sacrifice, all wrath appeasing;
Love the highest doth respect,
Love alone to him is ever pleasing.

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IX.

[Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes, O God]

Most sweet and pleasing are thy wayes, O God,
Like Meadowes deckt with Christall streames and flowers:
Thy paths no foote prophane hath ever trod,
Nor hath the proud man rested in thy Bowers.
There lives no Vultur, no devouring Beare,
But onely Doves and Lambs are harbor'd there.
The Wolfe his young ones to their prey doth guide;
The Foxe his Cubbs with false deceit endues;
The Lyons Whelpe suckes from his Damme his pride;
In hers the Serpent malice doth infuse:
The darksome Desart all such beasts contaynes,
Not one of them in Paradice remaynes.

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X.

[Wise men patience never want]

Wise men patience never want,
Good men pitty cannot hide:
Feeble spirits onely vant
Of revenge, the poorest pride.
Hee alone forgive that can
Beares the true soule of a man.
Some there are, debate that seeke,
Making trouble their content,
Happy if they wrong the meeke,
Vexe them that to peace are bent:
Such undooe the common tye
Of mankinde, societie.
Kindnesse growne is, lately, colde;
Conscience hath forgot her part;
Blessed times were knowne of old,
Long ere Law became an Art:
Shame deterr'd, not Statutes then,
Honest love was law to men.
Deeds from love, and words, that flowe
Foster like kinde Aprill showres;
In the warme Sunne all things grow,
Wholsome fruits and pleasant flowres;
All so thrives his gentle rayes,
Where on humane love displayes.

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XI.

[Never weather-beaten Saile more willing bent to shore]

Never weather-beaten Saile more willing bent to shore,
Never tyred Pilgrims limbs affected slumber more,
Then my weary spright now longs to flye out of my troubled brest.
O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soule to rest.
Ever-blooming are the joyes of Heav'ns high paradice,
Cold age deafes not there our eares, nor vapour dims our eyes;
Glory there the Sun outshines, whose beames the blessed onely see:
O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my spright to thee.

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XII.

[Lift up to heav'n, sad wretch, thy heavy spright]

Lift up to heav'n, sad wretch, thy heavy spright,
What though thy sinnes thy due destruction threat?
The Lord exceedes in mercy as in might;
His ruth is greater, though thy crimes be great.
Repentance needes not feare the heav'ns just rod,
It stayes ev'n thunder in the hand of God.
With chearefull voyce to him then cry for grace,
Thy Faith, and fainting Hope, with Prayer revive;
Remorce for all that truely mourne hath place;
Not God, but men of him themselves deprive:
Strive then, and hee will help; call him, hee'll heare:
The Sonne needes not the Fathers fury feare.

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XIII.

[Loe, when backe mine eye]

Loe, when backe mine eye,
Pilgrim-like, I cast,
What fearefull wayes I spye,
Which, blinded, I securely past!
But now heav'n hath drawne
From my browes that night;
As when the day doth dawne,
So cleares my long imprison'd sight.
Straight the caves of hell
Drest with flowres I see,
Wherein false pleasures dwell,
That, winning most, most deadly be.
Throngs of masked Feinds,
Wing'd like Angels, flye,
Ev'n in the gates of Friends;
In faire disguise blacke dangers lye.
Straight to Heav'n I rais'd
My restored sight,
And with loud voyce I prais'd
The Lord of ever-during light.
And, since I had stray'd
From his wayes so wide,
His grace I humbly pray'd
Hence-forth to be my guard and guide.

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XIV.

[As by the streames of Babilon]

As by the streames of Babilon,
Farre from our native soyle we sat,
Sweet Sion, thee we thought upon,
And ev'ry thought a teare begat.
Aloft the trees that spring up there
Our silent Harps wee pensive hung:
Said they that captiv'd us, Let's heare
Some song which you in Sion sung.
Is then the song of our God fit
To be prophan'd in forraine land?
O Salem, thee when I forget,
Forget his skill may my right hand!
Fast to the roofe cleave may my tongue,
If mindelesse I of thee be found:
Or if, when all my joyes are sung,
Jerusalem be not the ground.
Remember, Lord, how Edoms race
Cryed in Jerusalems sad day,
Hurle downe her wals, her towres deface;
And, stone by stone, all levell lay.
Curst Babels seede! for Salems sake
Just ruine yet for thee remaines!
Blest shall they be, thy babes that take,
And 'gainst the stones dash out their braines!

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XV.

[Sing a song of joy]

Sing a song of joy,
Prayse our God with mirth:
His flocke who can destroy?
Is hee not Lord of heav'n and earth?
Sing wee then secure,
Tuning well our strings:
With voyce, as Eccho pure,
Let us renowne the King of Kings.
First who taught the day
From the East to rise?
Whom doth the Sunne obey
When in the Seas his glory dyes?
Hee the Starres directs
That in order stand:
Who heav'n and earth protects,
But hee that fram'd them with his hand?
Angels round attend,
Wayting on his will;
Arm'd millions he doth send
To ayde the good or plague the ill.
All that dread his Name,
And his Hests observe,
His arme will shield from shame:
Their steps from truth shall never swerve.
Let us then rejoyce,
Sounding loud his prayse:
So will hee heare our voyce,
And blesse on earth our peacefull dayes.

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XVI.

[Awake, awake, thou heavy spright]

Awake, awake, thou heavy spright,
That sleep'st the deadly sleepe of sinne;
Rise now, and walke the wayes of light:
'Tis not too late yet to begin.
Seeke heav'n earely, seeke it late,
True Faith still findes an open gate.
Get up, get up, thou leaden man:
Thy tracks to endlesse joy or paine
Yeelds but the modell of a span;
Yet burnes out thy lifes lampe in vaine.
One minute bounds thy bane, or blisse,
Then watch, and labour while time is.