A. H. (Arthur Henry) Bullen.

Lyrics from the song-books of the Elizabethan age: online

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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 passing 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 j
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 :

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 ?

1 the common sense can show,
Kisses make men loath fb 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, gods, you know
Kisses make men loath to go.

From ROBERT JONES' SesondBook
of Songs and Airs, 1601.

MY Love is neither young nor old,
Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold,
But fresh and fair as springing briar
Blooming the fruit of love's desire ;
Not snowy- white nor rosy-red,
But fair enough for shepherd's bed ;
And such a love was never seen
On hill or dale or country-green.

Sonnets, and Songs, 1588.

MY mind to me a kingdom is :
Such perfect joy therein I find
That it excels all other bliss
That God or nature hath assigned.
Though much I want, that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.


No princely port, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,
No shape to win a loving eye ;
To-none of these I yield as thrall !
For why ? my mind despise them all.

J see that plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall ;
I see that such as are aloft,
Mishap doth threaten most of all.
These get with toil, and keep with fear :
Such cares my mind can never bear.

I press to bear no haughty sway,
I wish no more than may suffice,
I do no more, than well I may ;
Look, what I want, my mind supplies.
Lo, thus ,1 triumph like a king,
My mind content with any thing.

I laugh not at another's loss,
Nor grudge not at another's gain.
No worldly waves my mind can toss,
I brook that is another's bane ;
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,
I loathe not life nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease ;
And conscience clear my chief defence ;
I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence,
Thus do I live, thus will I die :
Would all did so as well as I !


From JOHN MUNDY'S Songs and
Psalms, 1594.

MY prime of youth is but a frost of cares !
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain !
My crop of corn is but a field of tares !

And all my good is but vain hope of gain !
My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun !
And now I live, and now my life is done !

The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung !

The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green !
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young !

I saw the World and yet I was not seen !
- My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun !
And now I live, and now my life is done.

Book of Airs, 1601.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atqiie amemus.

MY sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive
Into their west, and straight again revive ;
But, soon as once is set our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.


If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armour should not be ;
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love :
But fools do live and waste their little light,
And seek with pain their ever-during night.

When timely death my life and fortunes ends,
Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends j
But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come
And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb :
And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light
And crown with love my ever-during night.

Book of Songs or Airs, 1597.

MY Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes
with Love :

Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night,
And say, as she doth in the heavens move,
In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight :
And whisper this, but softly, in her ears,
* ' Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears. "

And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry,
If for mistrust my mistress do you blame,
Say, though you alter, yet you do not vajcy,
As she doth change and yet remain the same ;
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect,
And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect.


If she for this with clouds do mask her eyes
And make the heavens dark with her disdain,
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain.
Thoughts, Hopes, and Love, return to me no more
Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before.

Book of 'Airs (circ. 1613).

NEVER love unless you can
Bear with all the faults of man :
Men sometimes will jealous be
Though but little cause they see ;
And hang the head as discontent,
And speak what straight they will repent.

Men that but one saint adore
Make a show of love to more ;
Beauty must be scorned in none,
Though but truly served in one :
For what is courtship but disguise ?
True hearts may have dissembling eyes.

Men, when their affairs require,
Must awhile themselves retire ;
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk,
And not ever sit and talk :
If these and such-like you can bear,
Then like, and love, and never fear !


From JOHN FARMER'S First Set
of English Madrigals, 1599.
(Verses by Samuel Daniel. )

NOW each creature joys the other,
Passing happy days and hours : *
One bird reports unto another

By the fall of silver showers ;
Whilst the Earth, our common Mother,
Hath her bosom decked with flowers.

gals, 1597.

NOW every tree renews his summer's green,
Why is your heart in winter's garments clad ?
Your beauty says my love is summer's queen,

But your cold love like winter makes me sad :
Then either spring with buds of love again
Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain.

From Pammelia, 1609.

NOW God be with old Simeon,
For he made cans for many-a-one,
And a good old man was he ;


And Jinkin was his journeyman,
And he could tipple of every can,
And thus he said to me :

"To whom drink you?"
" Sir knave, to you."
Then hey-ho, jolly Jinkin !
I spie a knave in drinking.

From ROBERT JONES' Ultimum
Vale or Third Book of Airs

NOW have I learn'd with much ado at last
By true disdain to kill desire ;
This was the mark at which I shot so fast,

Unto this height I did aspire :
Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,

. What life to quicken dead desire ?

I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,

I feel no heat in all thy fire :
Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.

In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,

In vain thy wanton eyes allure ;
These are but toys for them that love to gaze,

I know what harm thy looks procure :
Some strange conceit must be devised,
Or thou and all thy skill despised.


From THOMAS FORD'S Music of
Sundry Kinds, 1607.

NOW I see thy looks were feigned
Quickly lost, and quickly gained ;
Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,
Heart inconstant, light as feathers,
Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted,
Wanton will with change delighted.

Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason !

Of thine eye I made my mirror,

From thy beauty came my error,

All thy words I counted witty,

All thy sighs I deemed pity,

Thy false tears, that me aggrieved

First of all my trust deceived.

Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason !

Feigned acceptance when I asked,

Lovely words with cunning masked,

Holy vows, but heart unholy ;

Wretched man, my trust was folly ;

Lily white, and pretty winking,

Solemn vows but sorry thinking.

Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid plague thee for thy treason !

Now I see, O seemly cruel,
Others warm them at my fuel,


Wit shall guide me in this durance

Since in love is no assurance :

Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,

Beauty is a fading treasure.

Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
Cupid, plague thee for thy treason !

Prime youth lasts not, age will follow
And make white those tresses yellow ;
Wrinkled face, for looks delightful,
Shall acquaint the dame despiteful.
And when time shall date thy glory,
Then too late thou wilt be sorry.

Siren, pleasant foe to reason,
. Cupid plague thee for thy treason !

and Madrigals, 1598.

NOW is my Chloris fresh as May,
Clad all in green and flowers gay.

Fa la la !

O might I think August were near
That harvest joy might soon appear.

Fa la la !

But she keeps May throughout the year,
And August never comes the near.

Fa la la !

Yet will I hope, though she be May,
August will come another day.

Fa la la !


Book of Ballets, 1595.

NOW is the month of maying,
When merry lads are playing
Each with his bonny lass
Upon the greeny grass.

Fa la la !

The spring clad all in gladness '
Doth laugh at winter's sadness,
And to the bagpipe's sound
The nymphs tread out their ground.
Fa la la !

Fie then, why sit we musing,
Youth's sweet delight refusing ?
Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,
Shall we play barley-break.

Fa la la !

Book of Airs (circ. 1613).

NOW let her change ! and spare not !
Since she proves strange, I care not !
Feigned love charmed so my delight,
That still I doted on her sight.
But she is gone ! new joys embracing,
And my distress disgracing.


When did I err in blindness ?
Or vex her with unkindness ?
If my cares served her alone,
Why is she thus untimely gone ?
True love abides to th' hour of dying
False love is ever flying.

False ! then farewell for ever !
Once false proves faithful never !
He that boasts now of thy love,
Shall soon my present fortunes prove
Were he as fair as bright Adonis :
Faith is not had where none is !

gals of Five and Six Parts,

NOW let us make a merry greeting
And thank God Cupid for our meeting :
My heart is full of joy and pleasure
Since thou art here, mine only treasure.
Now will we dance and sport and play
And sing a merry roundelay.


Book of Airs, 1601. (Attri-
buted to Sir Walter Raleigh.)

NOW what is love, I pray thee tell ?
It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasures and repentance dwell ;
It is perhaps that sancing-bell l
That tolls all in to heaven or hell :
And this is love, as I hear tell.

Now what is love, I pray thee say ?
It is a work on holyday,
It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of their play :
And this is love, as I hear say.

Now what is love, I pray thee feign ?
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
It is a gentle pleasing pain,
A flower that dies and springs again,
It is a No that would full fain :
And this is love as I hear feign.

Yet what is love, I pray thee say ?

It is a pretty shady way

As well found out by night as day,

It is a thing will soon decay ;

Then take the vantage whilst you may :

And this is love, as I hear say.

1 Saint's-bell ; the little bell that called to prayers.


Now what is love, I pray thee show ?
A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for mo,
And he that proves shall find it so :
And this is love, as I well know.

Book of Airs (cac. 1613).

NOW winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o'erflow with wine ;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,

While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse ;
Much speech hath some defence
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well ;
Some measures comely tread,


Some knotted riddles tell,

Some poems smoothly read.

'The summer hath his joys

And winter his delights ;

Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,

They shorten tedious nights.

From JOHN WARD'S First Set of
English Madrigals^ 1613.

OS AY, dear life, when shall these twin-born

So lovely -ripe, by my rude lips be tasted ?
Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not nay) those cherries ?

O let them not with summer's heat be blasted.
Nature, thou know'st, bestow'd them free on thee ;
Then be thou kind bestow them free on me.

From JOHN FARMER'S First Set
of English Madrigals, 1599.

OSTAY, sweetlove ; see here the place of sporting ;
These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,
And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting,

Warbling sweet notes only to delight us :
Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me,
Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.


I thought, my love, that I should overtake you ;

Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree,
And I will promise never to forsake you,

So you will grant to me a lover's fee.
Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said
I never meant to live and die a maid.

gals, 1594.

O SWEET, alas, what say you ?
Ay me, that face discloses
The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses.
And yet, alas, I know not
If such a crimson staining
Be for love or disdaining ;
But if of love it grow not,
Be it disdain conceived
To see us of love's fruits so long bereaved.

Book of Airs (circ. 1613).

O SWEET delight, O more than human bliss
With her to live that ever loving is !
To hear her speak whose words are so well placed
That she by them, as they by her are graced !
Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye,
How blest is he that may so live and die !


Such love as this the Golden Times did know,
When all did reap and none took care to sow ;
Such love as this an endless summer makes,
And all distaste from frail affection takes.
So loved, so blest in my beloved am I :
Which till their eyes ache, let iron men envy !

From ROBERT JONES' Ultimum
Vale or Third Book of Airs

OFT have I mused the cause to find
Why Love in lady's eyes should dwell ;
I thought, because himself was blind,

He look'd that they should guide him well :
And sure his hope but seldom fails,
For Love by ladies' eyes prevails.

But time at last hath taught me wit,

Although I bought my wit full dear ;
For by her eyes my heart is hit,

Deep is the wound though none appear :
Their glancing beams as darts he throws,
And sure he hath no shafts but those.

I mused to see their eyes so bright,

And little thought they had been fire ;
I gazed upon them with delight,

But that delight hath bred desire :
What better place can Love desire
Than that where grow both shafts and fire ?


From JOHN ATTVE'S First Book
of Airs, 1622.-

ON a time the amorous Silvy
Said to her shepherd, ' Sweet, how do you ?
Kiss me this once, and then God be wi' you,

My sweetest dear !

Kiss me this once and then God be wi' you,
For now the morning draweth near.'

With that, her fairest bosom showing,
Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowing,
She said, ' Now kiss me and be going,

My sweetest dear !

Kiss me this once and then be going,
For now the morning draweth near. '

With that the shepherd waked from sleeping,
And, spying where the day was peeping,
He said, ' Now take my soul in keeping,

My sweetest dear !

Kiss me, and take my soul in keeping,
Since I must go t now clay is near.'


From ROBERT JONES' First Book
of Songs and Airs, 1601.

ONCE did I love and yet I live,
Though love and truth be now forgotten ;
Then did I joy, now do I grieve

That holy vows must now be broken.

Hers be the blame that caused it so,
Mine be the grief though it be mickle ; l

She shall have shame, I cause to know
What 'tis to love a dame so fickle.

Love her that list, I am content

For that chameleon-like she changeth,

Yielding such mists as may prevent

My sight to view her when she rangeth.

Let him not vaunt that gains my loss,

For when that he and time hath proved her,

She may him bring to Weeping-Cross :
I say no more, because I loved her.

From HENRY YOULL'S Canzonets
to Three Voices, 1608.


NCE I thought to die for love,
Till I found that women prove

1 Old ed., "little."


Traitors in their smiling :
They say men unconstant be,
But they themselves love change, we see,

And all is but beguiling.

gals > 1597.

OUR country-swains in the morris dance
Thus woo and win their brides,
Will for our town the hobby horse

At pleasure frolic rides :
I woo with tears and ne'er the near,
I die in grief and live in fear.

nets, 1598.

PIERCE did love fair Petronel
Because she sang and danced well
And gallantly could prank it ;
He pulled her and he haul'd her
And oftentimes he call'd her

Primrose pearls prick'd in a blanket.


First Set of Madrigals and
Pastorals^ 1613.

POUR forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears- ;
Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears ;
Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed,
Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled.
Yet, see, she smiles ! O see, some hope appears !
Hold, heart, and live ; mine eyes, cease off your tears.

From Airs sung and played at
Brougham Castle, 1618, by

ROBIN is a lovely lad,
No lass a smoother ever had ;
Tommy hath a look as bright
As is the rosy morning light ;
Tib is dark and brown of hue,
But like her colour firm and true ;
Jenny hath a lip to kiss
Wherein a spring of nectar is ;
Simkin well his mirth can place
And words to win a woman's grace ;
Sib is all in all to me,
There is no Queen of Love but she.



Brief Discourse, 1614.


ROUND- A, round-a, keep your ring :
To the glorious sun we sing,

Ho, ho !

He that wears the flaming rays,
And th' imperial crown of bays,
Him with shouts and songs we praise

Ho, ho !

That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace
The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.

nets, 1593.

SEE, see, mine own sweet jewel,
What I have for my darling :
A robin-redbreast and a starling.
These I give both in hope to move thee ;
Yet thou say'st I do not love thee.



SHALL a frown or angry eye,
Shall a word unfitly placed,
Shall a shadow make me flie
As if I were with tigers chased ?
Love must not be so disgraced.

Shall I woo her in despight ?
Shall I turn her from her flying ?
Shall I tempt her with delight ?
Shall I laugh at her denying ?
No : beware of lovers' crying.

Shall I then with patient mind,
Still attend her wayward pleasure ?
Time will make her prove more kind,
Let her coyness then take leisure :
She is worthy such a treasure.

Hours Recreation in Music,

SHALL I abide this jesting ?
I weep, and she's a-feasting !

cruel fancy, that so doth blind me
To love one that doth not mind me !

Can I abide this prancing ?

1 weep, and she's a-dancing !
O cruel fancy, so to betray me !
Thou goest about to slay me.


Book of Airs (circ. 1613).

SHALL I come, sweet Love, to thee
When the evening beams are set ?
Shall I not excluded be,

Will you find no feigned let ?
Let me not, for pity, more
Tell the long hours at your door.

Who can tell what thief or foe,

In the covert of the night,
For his prey will work my woe,

Or through wicked foul despite ?
So may I die unredrest
Ere my long love be possest.

But to let such dangers pass,

Which a lover's thoughts disdain,

'Tis enough in such a place

To attend love's joys in vain :

Do not mock me in thy bed,

While these cold nights freeze me dead.

From ROBERT JONES' Utiimum
Vale or Third Book of Airs

SHALL I look to ease my grief?
No, my sight is lost with eying :
Shall I speak and beg relief?

No, my voice is hoarse with crying :
What remains but only dying ?


Love and I of late did part,
But the boy, my peace envying,

Like a Parthian threw his dart
Backward, and did wound me flying
What remains but only dying ?

She whom then I looked on,
My remembrance beautifying,

Stays with me though I am gone,
Gone and at her mercy lying :
What remains but only dying ?

Shall I try her thoughts and write,
No I have no means of trying :

If I should, yet at first sight

She would answer with denying :
What remains but only dying ?

Thus my vital breath doth waste,
And, my blood with sorrow drying,

Sighs and tears make life to last
For a while, their place supplying :
What remains but only dying ?

From ROBERT JONES' First Book
of Airs, 1601.

HE whose matchless beauty staineth

What best judgment fair'st maintaineth,
She, O she, my love clisdaineth.



Can a creature, so excelling,
Harbour scorn in beauty's dwelling,
All kind pity thence expelling?

Pity beauty much commendeth
And th' embracer oft befriendeth
When all eye-contentment endeth.

Time proves beauty transitory ;
Scorn, the stain of beauty's glory,
In time makes the scorner sorry.

None adores the sun declining ;
Love all love falls to resigning
When the sun of love leaves shining.

So, when flower of beauty fails thee,
And age, stealing on, assails thee,
Then mark what this scorn avails thee.

Then those hearts, which now complaining
Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,
Shall contemn thy beauty waning.

Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prized,
Shall with spite and grief surprised
Burst to find itself despised.

When like harms have them requited
Who in others' harms delighted,
Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.

Such revenge my wrongs attending,
Hope still lives on time depending,
By thy plagues thy torrents ending.


Book of Ballets to Five Voices,

SHOOT, false Love ! I care not ;
Spend thy shafts and spare not !

Fa la la !

I fear not, I, thy might,
And less I weigh thy spite ;
All naked I unarm me,
If thou canst, now shoot and harm me !
So lightly I esteem thee
As now a child I dream thee.

Fa la la la !

Long thy bow did fear l me,
While thy pomp did blear me ;

Fa la la !

But now I do perceive
Thy art is to deceive ;
And every simple lover
All thy falsehood can discover.
Then weep, Love ! and be sorry,
For thou hast lost thy glory.

Fa la la la !

1 Frighten.


Book of Airs, (circ. 1613).

SILLY boy ! 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day
shines clearly ;
Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love

so dearly.
Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be

Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet


All is artless now you speak, not one word is. feigned ;
All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts

are blessed,
But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his


Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang

And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth

neglected ;
Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy

heart so holy
And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is

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Online LibraryA. H. (Arthur Henry) BullenLyrics from the song-books of the Elizabethan age: → online text (page 5 of 9)