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Ayres, or Fa La's for three voyces

Hilton, John (1599-1657)
  
[dedication]

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To the Author vpon his Ayres.
  
To his friend M. Iohn Hilton, vpon his Ayres.
 I. 
[I. To sport our merry, merry meeting]
 II. 
[II. First Part. My Mistrisse frownes when she should play]
 III. 
[III. Second Part. You Louers that haue Loues astray]
 IV. 
[IV. Phœbe tels me when I woo, fortunes blinde and Cupd too]
 V. 
[V. Coelia's wound and mine were one]
 VI. 
[VI. Deare, may some other, since not I, pull that flower ere it dye?]
 VII. 
[VII. Though me you doe disdaine to view]
 VIII. 
[VIII. Loue wounded me, but did not tuch Cloris]
 IX. 
[IX. The woodbyne Flora doth decay]
 X. 
[X. I Heard a wither'd Maide complaine]
 XI. 
[XI. Leaue off sad Philomell to sing such dolefull dolefull notes]
 XII. 
[XII. O Had not Venus beene beguil'd]
 XIII. 
[XIII. Tell me deere, faine would I know]
 XIV. 
[XIV. Faint not Louers for denyals, womens Naes are but your tryals]
 XV. 
[XV. Gifts of feature and of minde, are in Flora both combin'd]
 XVI. 
[XVI. As Flora slept, and I lay waking]
 XVII. 
[XVII. When Flora frownes, I hope for peace]
 XVIII. 
[XVIII. Loue laid his yoake vpon me]
 XIX. 
[XIX. Now is the summer springing]
 XX. 
[XX. Come sprightly mirth, like Bird si'th spring]
 XXI. 
[XXI. Come, come let's crowne this famous night]
 XXII. 
[XXII. First Part. Hero kisse me or I dye, on thy lips]
 XXIII. 
[XXIII. Second Part. Qvickly send it then vnto me by a kisse]
 XXIV. 
[XXIV. If it be loue to sit and mourne]
 XXV. 
[XXV. Flye Philomell, flye Philomell]
 XXVI. 
[XXVI. Who Master is in Musickes art]

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To his friend M. Iohn Hilton, vpon his Ayres.

When Arion from the Sea
Strooke bewitching Melodie,
A generall calme flew through the flood
And the Monsters silent stood:
Nor did they humane Nature lacke,
A Dolphin tooke him on his backe,
And as a Corke swimmes (with that ease)
Conuay'd him gently from the Seas.
Orpheus grones from beasts, and teares
Drew; and trees that had no eares,
He made with wonder bow their heads,
And the dead looke from their beds.
The noble Harpe he play'd vpon
Is now a Constellation.
Then feare not Hilton, who can tell
But thy sweet Ayres may please as well,
And worke wonders equally
Both on our beasts of land and sea?
We haue as many and as ill,
Till thy quicke tunes their soules shall fill:
Strike their rude minds, and set them free
Then a more Orpheus thou shalt bee.
Vale. Iohn Rice.
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