Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 11

Love is a wonder That's here and yonder, As common to one as to moe; A monstrous cheater, Every man's debtor; Hang him and so let him go.

[10] The colour of jealousy.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Second Set of Madrigals_, 1609.

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part: No, nor for a constant heart!

For these may fail or turn to ill: So thou and I shall sever.

Keep therefore a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why!

So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.

Love's G.o.d is a boy, None but cowherds regard him, His dart is a toy, Great opinion hath marred him: The fear of the wag Hath made him so brag; Chide him, he'll flie thee And not come nigh thee.

Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random, For if you hit me, slave, I'll tell your grandam.

Fond love is a child And his compa.s.s is narrow, Young fools are beguiled With the fame of his arrow; He dareth not strike If his stroke do mislike: Cupid, do you hear me?

Come not too near me.

Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you, For if you hit me, knave, in faith I'll breech you.

Th' ape loves to meddle When he finds a man idle, Else is he a-flirting Where his mark is a-courting; When women grow true Come teach me to sue, Then I'll come to thee Pray thee and woo thee.

Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger, For if you hit me, knave, I'll call thee, beggar.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.

Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high; For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.

But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Enamoured sought to woo the sun's fair light, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorched and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie.

And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though Fate frowned, And now drowned They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

"Maids are simple," some men say, "They forsooth will trust no men."

But should they men's wills obey, Maids were very simple then.

Truth a rare flower now is grown, Few men wear it in their hearts; Lovers are more easily known By their follies than deserts.

Safer may we credit give To a faithless wandering Jew, Than a young man's vows believe When he swears his love is true.

Love they make a poor blind child, But let none trust such as he; Rather than to be beguiled, Ever let me simple be.

From _Melismata_, 1611.

THE BELLMAN's SONG.

Maids to bed and cover coal; Let the mouse out of her hole; Crickets in the chimney sing Whilst the little bell doth ring; If fast asleep, who can tell When the clapper hits the bell?

From MARTIN PEERSON's _Mottects or Grave Chamber-Music_, 1630.

More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire, Kindled above to shew the Maker's glory; Beauty's first-born, in whom all powers conspire To write the Graces' life and Muses' story; If in my heart all nymphs else be defaced, Honour the shrine where you alone are placed.

Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits, True character of honour in perfection, Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits, And glorious prison of men's pure affection: If in my heart all nymphs else be defaced Honour the shrine where you alone are placed.

From THOMAS VAUTOR's _Songs of divers Airs and Natures_, 1619.

Mother, I will have a husband, And I will have him out of hand!

Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none.

John-a-Dun should have had me long ere this: He said I had good lips to kiss.

Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none.

For I have heard 'tis trim when folks do love; By good Sir John I swear now I will prove.

For, Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none.

To the town, therefore, will I gad To get me a husband, good or bad.

Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none.

From MICHAEL ESTE's _Madrigals of Three, Four and Five Parts_, 1604.

My hope a counsel with my heart Hath long desired to be, And marvels much so dear a friend Is not retain'd by me.

She doth condemn my haste In pa.s.sing the estate Of my whole life into their hands Who nought repays but hate:

And not sufficed with this, she says, I did release the right Of my enjoyed liberties Unto your beauteous sight.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.

My love bound me with a kiss That I should no longer stay; When I felt so sweet a bliss I had less power to part away: Alas, that women doth not know Kisses make men loath to go.

Yes, she knows it but too well, For I heard when Venus' dove In her ear did softly tell That kisses were the seals of love: O muse not then though it be so, Kisses make men loath to go.

Wherefore did she thus inflame My desires heat my blood, Instantly to quench the same And starve whom she had given food?

I the common sense can show, Kisses make men loath to go.

Had she bid me go at first It would ne'er have grieved my heart, Hope delayed had been the worst; But ah to kiss and then to part!

How deep it struck, speak, G.o.ds, you know Kisses make men loath to go.

From ROBERT JONES' _Second Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.