The first booke of ayres of fovre parts, with Tableture for the luteh So made, that all the parts may be plaide together with the Lute, or one voyce with the Lute and Base-Vyell |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IIII. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | The first booke of ayres of fovre parts, with Tableture for the luteh |  |
TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, JOHN, EARLE
of Bridge-water, Viscount Brackley, and
Baron of Ellesmere: AND THE TRVELY NOBLE, AND
VERTVOVS Lady, FRANCES,
Covntesse of Bridge-water, &c. His singular good Lord, and Lady.
[_]
The following poems are scored for music in the source text. Where poems are not stanzaic, no attempt has been made to reconstruct the metrical lines. Variations for different voices have been ignored. Repetition marks have been ignored.
I.
[On a time, the amorous Siluy]
On a time, the amorous Siluy,
Said to her Shepheard, Sweet how doe you?
Kisse mee this once, And then God b'wee you,
My sweetest deare,
Kisse me this once, And then God b'wee you,
For now the morning, for now the morning draweth neare.
Said to her Shepheard, Sweet how doe you?
Kisse mee this once, And then God b'wee you,
My sweetest deare,
Kisse me this once, And then God b'wee you,
For now the morning, for now the morning draweth neare.
With that her fairest bosome shewing,
Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowings
She said, now kisse me and be going,
My sweetest deare.
Kisse me this once and then be going,
For now the morning draweth neare.
Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowings
She said, now kisse me and be going,
My sweetest deare.
Kisse me this once and then be going,
For now the morning draweth neare.
With that the Shepheard wak'd from sleeping,
And spying where the day was peeping,
He said now take my soule in keeping:
My sweetest deare.
Kisse me, and take my soule in keeping,
Since I must goe now, day is neare.
And spying where the day was peeping,
He said now take my soule in keeping:
My sweetest deare.
Kisse me, and take my soule in keeping,
Since I must goe now, day is neare.
II.
[The gordian knot which Alexander great]
The gordian knot which Alexander great,Did whilome cut, with his all conquering sword;
Was nothing like thy Buskpoint pretty peat,
Nor could so faire, nor could so faire an Augury afford:
Which if I chance, to cut or else vntye,
Thy little world, Ile conquer presently.
[What is all this world but vaine?]
[1]
What is all this world but vaine?What are all our ioyes but paine?
What our pleasures but a dreame,
Passing swifely like a streame?
2
Like a flower now we grow,Like the Sea we ebbe and flow:
Still vncertaine is our change,
Like the winde so doe we range.
3
No contented ioy wee haue,Till within the silent graue
Our fraile flesh be laid to sleepe;
Then we cease to mourne, to weepe.
4
Who would trust to worldly things,Which beguile the greatest Kings?
I will set my heart on high,
And contented so will dye.
III.
[In a groue of Trees of Mirtle]
[1]
In a groue of Trees of Mirtle,Venus met faire Mirrahs childe,
Kisse quoth she my pretty, pretty Turtle,
But hee hopes hee did beguile,
With no no no, with no no no,
No no no no no no no
No, with no no no no no.
2
Come, oh come my dearest treasure,And looke Babies in my eyes:
Coll, and kisse, inioy thy pleasure;
But her kindnesse he denyes,
With no &c.
3
Lowtish Lad come learne to venture,On the Iuory brest of loue:
I dare stay thy worst encounter;
But her words as winde did proue,
With no &c.
4
Shall then loue be thus abused,By the beauty of a Boy?
Shall my Temple be refused,
Will Adonis still be coy?
With no, &c.
5
Then I vow that beauty euer,Shall neglected be of loue:
Let the foolish Boy perseuer.
He the folly now shall proue,
Of no no.
IIII.
[Shall I tell you, shall I tell you whom I loue?]
[1]
Shall I tell you, shall I tell you whom I loue?Hearken, hearken then a while to me,
And if such a Woman moue,
As I now shall versifie,
Be assur'd tis Shee or none,
That I loue and loue alone.
2
Nature did her so much right,As she scornes the helpe of Art:
In as many vertues dight,
As ere yet imbrac'd a heart.
So much good so truely try'd
Some for lesse were Deify'd.
3
Wit she hath without desire,To make knowne how much shee hath;
And her anger flames no higher,
Then may fitly sweeten wrath.
Full of pitty as may be,
Though perhaps not so to me.
4
Reason masters euery Sence,And her vertues grace her birth;
Louely as all Excellence:
Modest in her most of myrth.
Likelyhood enough to proue,
Onely worth could kindle loue.
5
Such She is, and if you know,Such a one as I haue sung,
Be she browne or faire, or so,
That Shee be but somewhat young.
Be assur'd tis shee or none,
That I loue and loue alone.
V.
[My dearest and deuinest loue, imagine my distresse]
My dearest and deuinest loue, imagine my distresse,When thou retir'st from my desires, And sorrowes me oppresse.
For my sence sees no other Sunne,
But that which in thine eyes,
That in another Spheare doth runne,
And clowds thy natiue skyes.
Then come againe display thy pleasing Beames,
Else all my pleasures, are but paine,
My comforts, are but dreames.
[VI.]
Bright Starre of beauty, on whose Temples sit,Appolloes wisdome, and Dame Pallas wit,
Thou shalt not Crowned be with vulgar Bayes,
Because for thee it is, Crowne too base:
The Birds, the Beasts, their Goddesse doe thee call.
Thou art their Keeper, Thou preseru'st them all:
O what faire garland, worthy is to fit,
Thy faire blest browes that compasse in all merrit?
Appolloes Tree can yeeld thee but small praise,
It is too stale a Vesture for that place.
Thy skill doth equall Pallas, not thy birth,
Shee to the Heauens yeelds Musicke. Thou to the Earth.
VII.
[Thinke not tis I alone that sing her praise]
Thinke not tis I alone that sing her praise,No, all regard her whom my Muse respects,
Each sweetly singing Syten in her layes,
Deserued Trophes of her worth erects,
And Philomela on her thorny perch,
Her nearest notes, to note her praise doth search.
VII.
[Ioy my Muse, since there is one]
Ioy my Muse, since there is one,Deserues best admiration,
Or all that ere did heed her,
Let all the deities, yeeld their places,
To her still well-deseruing graces,
Since none of them, exceeds her.
VIII.
[My dayes, my moneths, my yeares I spend]
[1]
My dayes, my moneths, my yeares I spendAbout a moments gaine,
A ioy that in th'inioying ends,
A fury quickly slaine.
2
A fraile delight, like that Waspes life,Which now both friskes and flies:
And in a moments wanton strife,
It faints, it pants, it dyes.
3
And when I charge my Lance in rest,I triumph in delight:
And when I haue the ring transperst,
I languish in despite.
4
Or like one in a luke-warme Bath,Light wounded in a vaine:
Sperts out the spirits of his life.
And fainteth without paine.
IX.
[Madame, for you I little grieue to dye]
[1]
Madame, for you I little grieue to dye,In, and to whom I liue, because I loue.
For if, my ill doe please your dainty eye,
It cannot me displease, nor greatly moue.
Vnlesse a minde in you so cruell be,
To kill your selfe, To make an end of mee.
2
Onely I grieue that all my life is you,Who by my death must needs in danger be:
For if I dye it cannot be but true,
The sweetest of my life must die with mee;
If that a minde in you so cruell be,
To kill yourselfe, to make an end of mee.
3
Wherefore, if of my life you haue no care,Which I esteeme but onely for your sake:
Yet of your owne, which death it selfe would spare,
I am in hope you will some pitty take;
Vnlesse a minde in you so cruell be,
To kill your selfe, to make an end of mee.
X.
[Resound my voyce, yee woods that heare me playne]
[1]
Resound my voyce, yee woods that heare me playne,Both Hils and Dales causing reflection,
And Riuers eke record, yee of my paine,
That oft hath forc'd you to compassion,
Mongst whom pitty I finde, doth yet remaine,
But where I seeke, Alas, there is disdaine.
2
Ye wandring Riuers oft to heare me sound,Haue stopt your course, and plainly to expresse
Your griefes, haue cast teares on the wayling ground:
The Earth hath mourn'd to heare my heauinesse,
Whose dull and sencelesse nature I doe finde,
Farre more relenting then a Womans minde.
3
When that my woes I doe re-iterate,The mighty Okes haue roared in the winde;
And in the view of this my wretched state,
Each liuing thing bemones me in their kinde,
Saue onely shee that most my plaints should rue,
Vpon my ore-charg'd heart doth griefes renew.
XI.
[Vaine hope adue, Thou life-consuming moath]
Vaine hope adue, Thou life-consuming moath,Which frets my soule in peeces, with delay,
My well-spun threads, Will make no cloath,
To shrowd me from the tempest, of decay,
For stormes of fortune drench me like a floud,
Whilst rancors frost, nips Merit in her bud.
[XII.]
Sweet was the song the Virgin sungSweet was the song the Virgin sung, when she to Bethelem was come, And was deliuered of her Son, That blessed Iesvs hath to name, Lullaby, sweet Babe quoth she, My Son, and eke a Sauiour borne, Who hath vouchsafed from on high, To visit vs that were forlorne, Lulla, Lulla, Lullaby, sweet Babe sang she, And sweetly rockt him, on her knee.
| The first booke of ayres of fovre parts, with Tableture for the luteh | |