Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age Part 7

I wish but what I have at will, I wander not to seek for more; I like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on sh.o.r.e And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill; I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty's gate; I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court and cart I like nor loath; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean between them both Doth surest sit and fears no fall.

This is my choice: for why? I find No wealth is like the quiet mind.

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

I live, and yet methinks I do not breathe; I thirst and drink, I drink and thirst again; I sleep and yet do dream I am awake; I hope for that I have; I have and want: I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once.

O, tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war?

_Risposta._ There is a jewel which no Indian mines Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit; It makes men rich in greatest poverty; Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The homely whistle to sweet music's strain: Seldom it come, to few from heaven sent, That much in little, all in nought,--Content.

From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.

THE MAID.

I marriage would forswear, But that I hear men tell That she that dies a maid Must lead an ape in h.e.l.l.

Therefore, if fortune come, I will not mock and play Nor drive the bargain on Till it be driven away.

t.i.tles and lands I like, Yet rather fancy can A man that wanteth gold Than gold that wants a man.

From JOHN MAYNARD's _Twelve Wonders of the World_, 1611.

THE MARRIED MAN.

I only am the man Among all married men That do not wish the priest, To be unlinked again.

And though my shoe did wring I would not make my moan, Nor think my neighbours' chance More happy than mine own.

Yet court I not my wife, But yield observance due, Being neither fond nor cross, Nor jealous nor untrue.

From JOHN 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 Pa.s.sion 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.

From JOHN WILBYE's _First Set of English Madrigals_, 1598.

I sung sometime my thoughts and fancy's pleasure, Where I did list, or time served best and leisure; While Daphne did invite me To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.

I smiled, but yet did doubt her, And drank where she had drunk before, to flout her; But, O! while I did eye her, Mine eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.

From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set of Madrigals_, 1612.

I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile, I joy not much in earthly joys, I seek not state, I reak [_sic_] not style, I am not fond of Fancy's toys.

I rest so pleased with what I have I wish no more, no more I crave.

I tremble not at noise of war, I quake not at the thunder's crack, I shrink not at a blazing star, I sound not at the news of wreck, I fear no loss, I hope no gain, I envy none, I none disdain.

I see Ambition never pleased, I see some Tantals starve in store, I see gold's dropsy seldom eased, I see each Midas gape for more: I neither want nor yet abound, Enough's a feast, content is crowned.

I feign not friendship where I hate, I fawn not on the great for grace, I prize, I praise a mean estate Ne yet too lofty, nor too base, This is all my choice, my cheer-- A mind content and conscience clear.

From THOMAS MORLEY's _Madrigals to Four Voices_, 1600.

I will no more come to thee That flout'st me when I woo thee; Still ty hy thou criest And all my lovely rings and pins denyest.

O say, alas, what moves thee To grieve him so that loves thee?

Leave, alas, then, ah leave tormenting And give my burning some relenting.

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

If fathers knew but how to leave Their children wit as they do wealth, And could constrain them to receive That physic which brings perfect health, The world would not admiring stand A woman's face and woman's hand.

Women confess they must obey, We men will needs be servants still; We kiss their hands, and what they say We must commend, be't ne'er so ill: Thus we, like fools, admiring stand Her pretty foot and pretty hand.

We blame their pride, which we increase By making mountains of a mouse; We praise because we know we please; Poor women are too credulous To think that we admiring stand Or foot, or face, or foolish hand.

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

If I urge my kind desires, She, unkind, doth them reject, Women's hearts are painted fires, To deceive them that affect.

I alone love's fires include: She alone doth them delude.

She hath often vowed her love: But alas no fruit I find.

That her fires are false I prove Yet, in her, no fault I find.

I was thus unhappy born, And ordained to be her scorn.

Yet if human care or pain, May the heavenly order change; She will hate her own disdain, And repent she was so strange: For a truer heart than I, Never lived, nor loved to die.

From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1597.

If my complaints could pa.s.sions move, Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong; My pa.s.sions were enough to prove That my despairs had governed me too long.