Ayres and dialogues For One, Two, and Three Voyces; To be Sung either to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol |
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Bushels Myners.
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 | Ayres and dialogues |  |
74
Bushels Myners.
You Ladies of our Nation
Where is your greatness gone?
What sudden alteration
Hath forc'd you from your own?
Whilst we live here obscurely, in Cottages unknown,
No Cares or Fears we ever think upon.
Where is your greatness gone?
What sudden alteration
Hath forc'd you from your own?
Whilst we live here obscurely, in Cottages unknown,
No Cares or Fears we ever think upon.
Our Walls are higest Mountains,
For we live in a Comb;
We drink of Flowing Fountains,
Out dwelling is our Tomb:
Nor look to be expected before the day of Doom,
Where Scribes for bribes shall ne'r deny us Room.
For we live in a Comb;
We drink of Flowing Fountains,
Out dwelling is our Tomb:
Nor look to be expected before the day of Doom,
Where Scribes for bribes shall ne'r deny us Room.
We have a dreadful summons
Up in the high Countrie;
Our gracious King and Commons,
They say cannot agree:
This harness is for Cedars, and no such shrubs as we,
Yet still we will pray for a unitie.
Up in the high Countrie;
Our gracious King and Commons,
They say cannot agree:
This harness is for Cedars, and no such shrubs as we,
Yet still we will pray for a unitie.
The day we spend in working,
And chanting harmless Songs;
No mallice here lies lurking,
Our thoughts are free from wrongs:
And those that civil War do love, we wish they had no tongues,
No Drums no Guns, nor what to War belongs.
And chanting harmless Songs;
No mallice here lies lurking,
Our thoughts are free from wrongs:
And those that civil War do love, we wish they had no tongues,
No Drums no Guns, nor what to War belongs.
We wound the Earths hard Bowels,
Where hidden treasure grows;
With Twibil, Sledge and Trowels,
Pick-Axe and Iron-Crowes:
We search for sinful Silver, that all dissention sowes,
Their health and wealth, men do so ill dispose.
Where hidden treasure grows;
With Twibil, Sledge and Trowels,
Pick-Axe and Iron-Crowes:
We search for sinful Silver, that all dissention sowes,
Their health and wealth, men do so ill dispose.
We eat the Bread of Labour,
And what endeavours brings;
Sorrow is no next Neighbour,
Our Eyes they are no Springs,
Unless we shed a Tear or two, when as we pity Kings;
The Fates of States to us are Hebrew things.
And what endeavours brings;
Sorrow is no next Neighbour,
Our Eyes they are no Springs,
Unless we shed a Tear or two, when as we pity Kings;
The Fates of States to us are Hebrew things.
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