Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 24

My daily note shall be therefore-- Heigh ho, chil love no more.

'Tis like a morning dewy rose Spread fairly to the sun's arise, But when his beams he doth disclose That which then flourish'd quickly dies; It is a seld-fed dying hope, A promised bliss, a salveless sore, An aimless mark, and erring scope.

My daily note shall be therefore,-- Heigh ho, chil love no more.

'Tis like a lamp shining to all, Whilst in itself it doth decay; It seems to free whom it doth thrall, And lead our pathless thoughts astray.

It is the spring of wintered hearts Parched by the summer's heat before Faint hope to kindly warmth converts.

My daily note shall be therefore-- Heigh ho, chil love no more.

From RICHARD CARLTON's _Madrigals_, 1601.

When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adorned, The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth And Boreas' blasts the birds and beasts have scorned; When fresh Aurora with her colours painted, Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing, Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted, And maying maids have then their time of cheering; All creatures then with summer are delighted, The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver; Then stately dames by lovers are invited To walk in meads or row upon the river.

I all alone am from these joys exiled, No summer grows where love yet never smiled.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

When I was otherwise than now I am, I loved more but skilled not so much Fair words and smiles could have contented then, My simple age and ignorance was such: But at the length experience made me wonder That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder.

As watermen which on the Thames do row, Look to the east but west keeps on the way; My sovereign sweet her count'nance settled so, To feed my hope while she her snares might lay: And when she saw that I was in her danger, Good G.o.d, how soon she proved then a ranger!

I could not choose but laugh, although too late, To see great craft decypher'd in a toy; I love her still, but such conditions hate Which so profanes my paradise of joy.

Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure; A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure.

From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.

When thou must home to shades of underground, And there arrived, a new admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love From that smooth tongue whose music h.e.l.l can move;

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights, And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake: When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

{deinos Eros, deinos; ti de to pleon, en palin eipo, kai palin, oimozon pollaki, deinos Eros?} MELEAG.

When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight, And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy, Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might, Yet ween they he can work them none annoy; And therefore with his purple wings they play, For glorious seemeth love though light as feather, And when they have done they ween to scape away, For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither.

But when by proof they find that he did see, And that his wound did rather dim their sight, They wonder more how such a lad as he Should be of such surpa.s.sing power and might.

But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting: Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing!

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

Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking; Where least I come there most my heart abideth; Where most I love I never show my liking; From what my mind doth hold my body slideth; I show least care where most my care dependeth; A coy regard where most my soul attendeth.

Despiteful thus unto myself I languish, And in disdain myself from joy I banish.

These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish, And to some rest will quickly be conveyed That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayed.

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

A MOURNING-SONG FOR THE DEATH OF SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE.

Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought, Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish Their curbless power had been controlled in this?

For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy Enough expression to thy worth can lend; No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend.

Dead, n.o.ble Brooke shall be to us a name Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee; Wailing an old man's fate as if in pride And heat of Youth he had untimely died.

From CAMPION and ROSSETER's _Book of Airs_, 1601.

{skene pas ho bios, kai paignion.} PALLAD.

Whether men do laugh or weep, Whether they do wake or sleep, Whether they die young or old, Whether they feel heat or cold; There is underneath the sun Nothing in true earnest done.

All our pride is but a jest, None are worst and none are best; Grief and joy and hope and fear Play their pageants everywhere: Vain Opinion all doth sway, And the world is but a play.

Powers above in clouds do sit, Mocking our poor apish wit, That so lamely with such state Their high glory imitate.

No ill can be felt but pain, And that happy men disdain.

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Songs of Sundry Natures_, 1589.

While that the sun with his beams hot Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon, the shepherd, late forgot Sitting beside a chrystal fountain In shadow of a green oak-tree, Upon his pipe this song play'd he: Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!

Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight, I was your heart, your soul, your treasure; And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd, Burning in flames beyond all measure.

Three days endured your love for me, And it was lost in other three.

Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!

Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Another shepherd you did see, To whom your heart was soon enchained; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtained: Soon came a third your love to win; And we were out, and he was in.

Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!

Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!

Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love.

Sure, you have made me pa.s.sing glad That you your mind so soon removed, Before that I the leisure had To choose you for my best beloved: For all my love was past and done Two days, before it was begun.

Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love!

Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love!

Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Ballets and Madrigals_, 1598.

Whilst youthful sports are lasting, To feasting turn our fasting.

Fa la la!

With revels and with wa.s.sails Make grief and care our va.s.sals.