BROWN IS MY LOVE.

From the Second Book of Musica Transalpina, 1597.

BROWN is my Love, but graceful;

And each renowned whiteness

Matched with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.

Fair is my Love, but scornful;

Yet have I seen despisèd

Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd.

COME AWAY! COME, SWEET LOVE!

From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597; reprinted in Arber's Garner, vol. iv.

COME away! come, sweet love!

The golden morning breaks;

All the earth, all the air,

Of love and pleasure speaks!
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,

And mix our souls in mutual bliss!
Eyes were made for beauty's grace,
Viewing, ruing, love's long pain,
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.

Come away! come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn

Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to the naked morn!

Lilies on the river's side,

And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:

Ornament is nurse of pride,

Pleasure, measure love's delight,

Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!

MADRIGAL.

From Wilbye's Madrigals, 1598.

LADY, when I behold the roses sprouting,

Which, clad in damask mantles, deck the arbours, And then behold your lips, where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting:

For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes, Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses.

I SAW MY LADY WEEP.

From Dowland's Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600.

I SAW my lady weep,

And Sorrow proud to be advanced so
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
Her face was full of woe:

But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

Sorrow was there made fair,

And passion wise; tears a delightful thing;
Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;
She made her sighs to sing,

And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O fairer than aught else

The world can show, leave off in time to grieve.
Enough, enough! your joyful look excels;
Tears kill the heart, believe.

O strive not to be excellent in woe,

Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.

LOVE AND MAY.

From T. Morley's Madrigals, 1600,

NOW is the gentle season, freshly flowering,

To sing, and play, and dance, while May endureth,
And woo, and wed too, that sweet delight procureth.

The fields abroad with spangled flowers are gilded,
The meads are mantled, and closes1;

In May each bush arrayèd, and sweet wild roses.

The nightingale her bower hath gaily builded,
And full of kindly lust and loves inspiring,
I love, I love, she sings, hark, her mate desiring.

LOVE'S REALITIES.

From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601.

WHEN love on time and measure makes his ground,

Time that must end, though love can never die,

'Tis love betwixt a shadow and a sound,

A love not in the heart but in the eye;
A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down,
A morning's favour and an evening's frown.

Sweet looks show love, yet they are but as beams:
Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind;
Eyes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams;
Sighs paint a shadow in the falsest mind.

Looks, words, tears, sighs show love when love they leave;
False hearts can weep, sigh, swear, and yet deceive.

1 closes, gardens. The music in the original text shows that the composer had this apparently defective line before him.

MADRIGAL.

From Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602.

My love in her attire doth show her wit,

It doth so well become her:

For every season she hath dressings fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.
No beauty she doth miss,

When all her robes are on:

But Beauty's self she is

When all her robes are gone.

THE GRACE OF BEAUTY.

From Dowland's Third Book of Songs or Airs, 1603.

Y a fountain where I lay,

BY

(All blessed be that blessed day!)

By the glimmering of the sun,
(O never be her shining done!)

When I might see alone

My true love, fairest one!
Love's dear light!

Love's clear sight!

No world's eyes can clearer see!

A fairer sight none can be!

Fair with garlands all addrest,

(Was never Nymph more fairly blest!) Blessed in the highest degree;

(So may she ever blessed be!)

Came to this fountain near,

With such a smiling cheer!

Such a face!

Such a grace!

Happy! happy eyes! that see

Such a heavenly sight as she!

Then I forthwith took my pipe,
Which I all fair and clean did wipe,
And upon a heavenly ground,

All in the grace of beauty found,

Played this roundelay,

"Welcome, fair Queen of May!
Sing, sweet air!

Welcome Fair!

Welcome be the Shepherds' Queen!
The glory of all our green!"

LULLABY.

From Dowland's Third Book of Songs or Airs, 1603.

WEEP you no more, sad fountains,

What need you flow so fast?

Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
But my sun's heavenly eyes,
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping,
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,

A rest that peace begets;
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at even he sets?
Rest you, then, rest sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping,
While she lies sleeping,
Softly, now softly lies

Sleeping.