University of Virginia Library

Songs Of five Voyces

I. Come forth sweet Nymph

Come forth sweet Nimphe and play thee,
Thy true loue here doth stay thee,
Da-li-da makes me sing, Fa la la,
Come lull thee in mine armes,
Ile keep thee safe from harmes, Fa la la,

II. Sing on Sister

Sing on Sister and well met,
Louely Mabell and faire Bett, Fa la la,
Younglings must haue a beginning,
Vertues they are hard of winning, Fa la la,
But we will spare for no paynes,
If we win contents or gaines, Fa la la,
Which if wee attaine vnto,
We shall doe that few can doe. Fa la,

III. Ah sweete whose beauty

Ah sweete whose beauty passeth all my telling,
To thee my loue, all other are excelling, Fa la la,
By thee I liue and haue mine onely pleasure,
Thou art my life, and eke my whole hearts treasure, Fa la,
Let not vnkindenesse then eclipse my gladnes,
But let sweet smiles expell the clouds of sadnes, Fa la la la,
For if my loue sweet looks and liking reapeth,
O happy I my hart for ioy it leapeth.

IIII. Mother I will haue a Husband

Mother I will haue a Husband,
And I will haue him out of hand,
Mother I will sure haue one,
In spight of her, that will haue none,
Iohn a Dun should haue had me long ere this,
He said I had good lips to kisse,
For I haue heard tis trim, when folkes doe loue,
By good Sir Iohn I sweare now I will proue,
To the Towne therefore will I gad
To get me a husband good or bad,

V. Fair'st are the words

Fair'st are the words that couer deep'st deceit,
As next sweet honey lyes the poyson'd sting,
The crookt, the crooked hooke, is hid, in pleasant'st baite,
Which vnforeseene, too late repentance bring,
Synons sweet speech, the out-side of vntruth,
Thicke laid with Art, procur'd the Troyans ruth.

VI. Cruell Madame

Cruell Madame, my heart you haue bereft me,
And to my selfe no part haue you left me,
For yours all wholy loue hath fast infest me,
Wherefore thus plaine I must for euer,
My wofull heart both night and day bewaileth,
My death drawes on, and my poore life it faileth,
I sue for mercy where no teares auaileth,
Wherefore thus plaine I must for euer,
Yet if your eyes did see how you torment me,
Alas, poore man it would the more content me,
But now in absence, ah, ah doe I lament me,

VII. Neuer did any

Neuer did any more delight to see his enemy,
Then I, more foole finding no remedy,
It was because I lou'd her in my heart,
Although alas she lou'd to make it smart,
What shall I say then, but bid her adue,
Because vnkinde, to him that is most true?

VIII. Locke vp faire lids

Locke vp faire lids the treasures of my heart,
Preserue those beames, this ages onely light,
To her sweet sence, sweet Sleepe, some ease impart,
Her sence too weake to beare, the spirits might,
And while (O sleepe) thou closest vp her sight,
Where loue doth forge his fairest dart,
O harbour all her parts in easefull plight,
Let no strange dreame make her faire body start.

IX. And yet O dreame

And yet O dreame, if thou wilt not depart
From this rare subiect, I of thy common right,
But wilt thy selfe in such a seate delight,
Then take my shape, and play a louers part,
Kisse her from me, and say vnto her sprit,
Till her eyes shine,
I liue in darkest night,

X. O Merry world

O merry, world when euery louer with his mate,
Might walke from meade to meade, And cheerefully relate,
Sowre pleasures, and sweet griefes, following a wanton state,
Those dayes knew no suspect, each one might freely prate,
And daunce and sing, and play with his consociate,
Then louers vsde like Turtles, to kisse full louingly,
O honey dayes, and customes of antiquitie, But the world now is so full, of so fond Ielousie,
That we count charitie,
Wanton iniquitie,

XI. Sweet theefe

Sweet theefe, when me of heart you reft,
You did a murther and a theft,
And could you oft more cruell doe,
Then rob a man, and kill him too?
Wherefore of loue I craue this meede,
To bring you where you did the deede,
That there you may for him disgracing,
Suffer in chaines, of my imbracing.

XII. Sweet Suffolke Owle

Sweet, Suffolke Owle, so trimly dight,
With feathers, like a Lady bright,
Thou sing'st alone, sitting, by night,
Te whit, te whoo,
Thy note that forth so freely roules,
With shrill command the Mouse controules,
And sings a dirge for dying soules,
Te whit, te whoo,

XIII. Thou art not faire

Thou art not faire for all thy red and white,
For all those rosie ornaments in, in thee,
Thou art not sweet, though made of meere delight,
Nor faire, nor sweet, lesse thou pittie me,
I will not sooth thy fancies, thou shalt proue,
That beautie is no beautie without loue.

XIIII. Yet loue not me

Yet loue not me, nor seeke not to allure,
My thoughts with beautie were it more diuine,
Thy smiles and kisses, I cannot endure,
Ile not be wrapt vp in those armes of thine,
Now shew it if thou be a woman right,
Imbrace and kisse, and loue me in despight,

An Elegie, on the death of his right worshipfull Master, Sir Thomas Beaumont Knight, of Stroughton in Leicestershire.

Weepe, mine eyes salt teares, due honour giue,
With sighs deplore my griefe and mourning state,
Since he is dead by whom I still doe liue:
Beaumont is dead,
O cursed cruell fate, alas, Beaumont farewell, the earth doth sweetly sleepe,
To hold thy Corps, though heau'n thy soule doth keepe.