Songs of 3. Voyces
[I. Love is the fire that burnes me]
Loue is the fire that burnes me
Loue is the fire that burnes me, The
smokes are thoughts confused, Which dimmes my soule, my soule, And hath my sence abused,
Though fire to ashes turne me, Yet doth the smoke more grieue mee, That
dimmes my minde, Whose light should still relieue me. Though fire to ashes turne
me, Yet doth the smoke more grieue me, That dims my minde, whose light should still relieue me.
[II. My Mistrisse after seruice due]
My Mistrisse after seruice due
My Mistrisse after seruice due, Demaunded if indeed my
loue were true, I said it was, Then shee replide, That I must
hate who she defide, And so my selfe, aboue the rest, Whom she, (she swore) did most of all detest,
In sooth said I, you see I hate my selfe, Who sets my loue on such a peeuish elfe.
In sooth said I, you see I hate my selfe, who sets my loue on such a peeuish elfe.
[III. One woman scarce of twenty]
One woman scarce of twenty
One woman scarce of twenty. But hath of teares great plenty,
Which they powre out like fountaines, That runne downe from the
mountaines, Yet all is but beguiling, Their teares and eke their smiling, Ile
therefore neuer trust them, Since nature hath so curst
them, That they can weepe in smiling, Poore fooles thereby beguiling
Ile therefore neuer trust them, Since nature hath so
curst them, That they can weepe in smiling, Poore fooles thereby beguiling.
[IIII. If I seeke to inioy]
If I seeke to inioy, the fruits of my paine
If I seeke to inioy, the fruits of my paine, She
careles denyes me, with endles disdaine, Yet so much I loue her, that
nothing can either remoue me, or moue her, Alas, why contend I, why striue I in
vaine? in vaine, The water to mingle With Oyle that is Ayre, and loues to be single,
Tis not loue but Fate whose doome I abide, You pow'rs and you plannets, which Destenies
guide, Change your Opposition, It fits heau'nly powers to be milde
of Condition. Change your Opposition, It fits heau'nly powers to be milde of Condition.
[V. Pleasure]
Pleasure, is a wanton thing
Pleasure, is a wanton thing, When old and young doe dance and spring,
Pleasure, is a wanton thing, When old and young, doe dance and spring, Pleasure it is that
most desire, And yet tis but a fooles hire.
Pleasure it is that most desire, And yet tis but a fooles hire.
[VI. Sweet those Trammels of your haire]
Sweet, those Trammels of your haire
Sweet, those Trammels of your haire, Golden locks more
truely are, My thoughts locking to your beautie, Thus you
doe, my captiue minde, From my dying body binde, Onely to you,
to doe duty. O my deere let it goe free, Or my body take to thee, So your Captiues
you shall cherish, For if parted thus they lye, Or my thoughts
or I must dye, T'will grieue thee, if either perish,
