Ayres and dialogues For One, Two, and Three Voyces; To be Sung either to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol |
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Jealousie.
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 | Ayres and dialogues |  |
Jealousie.
The day that's lost ere scarcely shown,
Might rule eternally,
Did not the prerogative of Night
Insinuate a sov'raignty:
The Spring and Summer cropt ere blown,
With all their gaudy train,
Might ever season our delight,
Did not intruding Winter reign.
Might rule eternally,
Did not the prerogative of Night
Insinuate a sov'raignty:
The Spring and Summer cropt ere blown,
With all their gaudy train,
Might ever season our delight,
Did not intruding Winter reign.
The Sea whose often Shipwracks strike
A fear into the Advent'rers mind,
Would safely harbour did no Storm
Engage its nature to the Wind:
All things in goodness would be like,
Did not their ills their differ'nce shew;
Beauty in freedome as in form,
And Nature no decaying know.
A fear into the Advent'rers mind,
Would safely harbour did no Storm
Engage its nature to the Wind:
All things in goodness would be like,
Did not their ills their differ'nce shew;
Beauty in freedome as in form,
And Nature no decaying know.
Youth dwell for ever on our Cheeks,
Did not the Iron hand of Age
Imprint a Ruine or disease,
Invade our healths and life Engage:
Man might possess as soon as seek,
The pleasures that do so entice;
But his own nature doth displease,
Else Earth had been a Paradise.
Did not the Iron hand of Age
Imprint a Ruine or disease,
Invade our healths and life Engage:
Man might possess as soon as seek,
The pleasures that do so entice;
But his own nature doth displease,
Else Earth had been a Paradise.
So, had not cruel Love crept in,
My heart had been from passion free;
And my content had been my own,
Not slav'd to sottish Jealousie:
But Love hath rais'd such war within,
It doth disturb my peaceful pores;
And Tyrant-like (Alas!) hath thrown
My Rest and Quiet out of dores.
My heart had been from passion free;
And my content had been my own,
Not slav'd to sottish Jealousie:
But Love hath rais'd such war within,
It doth disturb my peaceful pores;
And Tyrant-like (Alas!) hath thrown
My Rest and Quiet out of dores.
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