 | Select musicall Ayres, and dialogues |  |
[The First Booke]
To the most Excellent, and accomplished Masters of Musick,
John Wilson, Charles Colman, Doctours in Musick.
Henry Lawes, William Webb, Gentlemen.
[_]
The following poems are scored for music in the source texts. 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. Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.
4
[She which would not I would chuse]
She which would not I would chuse,
She which would I would refuse,
Venus could my minde but tame,
But not satisfie the same.
She which would I would refuse,
Venus could my minde but tame,
But not satisfie the same.
Inticements offered I despise,
And deny'd I slightly prize:
I would neither glut my minde,
Nor yet too much torment finde.
And deny'd I slightly prize:
I would neither glut my minde,
Nor yet too much torment finde.
Thrice girt Diana doth not take me,
Nor Venus naked joyfull make me,
The first no pleasure hath to joy me,
& the last enough to cloy me.
Nor Venus naked joyfull make me,
The first no pleasure hath to joy me,
& the last enough to cloy me.
But a crafty Wench I'de have,
That can tell the art I crave,
And joyne at one, in one these two,
I will, and yet I will not doe.
That can tell the art I crave,
And joyne at one, in one these two,
I will, and yet I will not doe.
She which would not, &c.
16
[If any live that fain would prove]
If any live that fain would prove,
How powerful is the God of love,
& yet himselfe goe free,
Let him on me but fix his eyes,
& he shall read loves tyranies,
And soon shall perfect be,
In his Anatomie.
How powerful is the God of love,
& yet himselfe goe free,
Let him on me but fix his eyes,
& he shall read loves tyranies,
And soon shall perfect be,
In his Anatomie.
So many Stars, are not it'h skies,
Nor yet in burning Autumne flies,
Or Birds in Ayre doe hover;
The Spring hath not so many Buds,
Nor drops are in the Ocean Flouds
As griefes you may discover
In me poore Constant Lover.
Nor yet in burning Autumne flies,
Or Birds in Ayre doe hover;
The Spring hath not so many Buds,
Nor drops are in the Ocean Flouds
As griefes you may discover
In me poore Constant Lover.
Long paine and sorrow short, injoying
A dying life, lifes good destroying,
Fond hope desires vaine,
Small thankes, lesse faith, but great tormentings,
False smiles, true teares, and true lamentings;
These (if y'observe) you'le gaine
Experience by my paine.
A dying life, lifes good destroying,
Fond hope desires vaine,
Small thankes, lesse faith, but great tormentings,
False smiles, true teares, and true lamentings;
These (if y'observe) you'le gaine
Experience by my paine.
44
[Quench, quench, in sprighty wine your griefe]
Quench, quench, in sprighty wine your griefe,
'Tis true Promethean fire,
Such as gives sad souls relief,
Chears & strengthens quick desire.
'Tis true Promethean fire,
Such as gives sad souls relief,
Chears & strengthens quick desire.
Let's sup then, our cup then, till the world flye round about
As the glass & the flame from our eye,
Strike new day from the sky,
'Tis wine must give us Immortality
As the glass & the flame from our eye,
Strike new day from the sky,
'Tis wine must give us Immortality
No matter though through fields of bloud
The Souldier 'gainst his foe doe swim;
If when he hath past that floud,
His cup doth flow up to the brim.
The Souldier 'gainst his foe doe swim;
If when he hath past that floud,
His cup doth flow up to the brim.
Let's sup then, &c.
FINIS.
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