The Treasury of Musick Containing ayres and dialogues To Sing to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol. Composed |
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Beauty in Eclipse.
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 | The Treasury of Musick |  |
57
Beauty in Eclipse.
Tell me no more her Eyes are like
To rising Suns, that wonder strike;
For if 'twere so, how could it be,
They could be thus eclips'd to me?
To rising Suns, that wonder strike;
For if 'twere so, how could it be,
They could be thus eclips'd to me?
Tell me no more her Breasts do grow
Like rising Hills of melting Snow;
For if 'twere so, how could they lye
So near the Sun-shine of her eye?
Like rising Hills of melting Snow;
For if 'twere so, how could they lye
So near the Sun-shine of her eye?
Tell me no more the restless Spheares
Compar'd to her voyce, fright our ears;
For if 'twere so, how then could death
Dwell with such discord in her breath?
Compar'd to her voyce, fright our ears;
For if 'twere so, how then could death
Dwell with such discord in her breath?
No, say her Eyes Portenders are
Of ruine, or some blazing starre,
Else would I feel from that fair fire
Some heat to cherish my desire.
Of ruine, or some blazing starre,
Else would I feel from that fair fire
Some heat to cherish my desire.
Say that her Breasts, though cold as Snow,
Are hard as Marble, when I wooe;
Else they would soften and relent
With sighs inflamed, from me sent.
Are hard as Marble, when I wooe;
Else they would soften and relent
With sighs inflamed, from me sent.
Say that although like to the Moon.
She heavenly fair, yet chang'd as soon;
Else she would constant once remain
Either to pity or disdain.
She heavenly fair, yet chang'd as soon;
Else she would constant once remain
Either to pity or disdain.
That so by one of them I might
Be kept alive, or murther'd quite;
For 'tis no less cruell there to kill,
Where life doth but increase the ill.
Be kept alive, or murther'd quite;
For 'tis no less cruell there to kill,
Where life doth but increase the ill.
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