Humour Say
Humour say what mak’st thou here, in the presence of a queen,
Princes hold conceit most dear, all conceit in humour seen.
Thou art a heavy leaden mood, Humour is Invention’s food.
But never humour yet was true, But that which only pleaseth you.
O, I am as heavy as earth, say then who is Humour now.
I am now inclined to mirth, Humour I as well as thou.
Why then ‘tis I am drowned in woe. No, no, wit is cherish’d so.
But never humour …
Mirth then is drown’d in Sorrow’s brim, O, in sorrow all things sleep,
No, no fool the light’st things swim, Heavy things sink to the deep
In her presence all things smile, Humour frolic then awhile.
But never humour …
Come Away, Come Sweet Love
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, rueing love’s long pain
Procur’d by beauty’s rude disdain.
Come away, come sweet love, the golden morning wastes,
While the sun from his sphere, his fiery arrows casts:
Making all the shadows fly, playing, staying in the grove
To entertain the stealth of love.
Thither sweet love let us hie, flying, dying in desire,
Wing’d with sweet hopes and heav’nly fire.
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 flow’rs new blown,
Desire no beauties but their own.
Ornament is nurse of pride, Pleasure, measure love’s delight:
Haste then sweet love our wished flight.
Dear If You Changed
Dear, if you change, I’ll never choose again.
Sweet, if you shrink, I’ll never think of love.
Fair, if you fail, I’ll judge all beauty vain.
Wise, if too weak, more wits I’ll never prove.
Dear, sweet, fair, wise, change, shrink, nor be not weak:
And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.
Earth with her flow’rs shall sooner heaven adorn,
Heav’n her bright stars through earth’s dim globe shall move,
Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flame be born,
Air made to shine as black as hell shall prove:
Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transform’d to view,
Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.
If My Complaints
If my complaints could pas-si-ons move,
Or make love see wherein I suffer wrong:
My passions were enough to prove,
That my despairs had governed me too long.
O love, I live and die in thee,
Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks:
Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me,
My heart for thy unkindness breaks:
Yet thou dost hope when I despair,
And when I hope, thou mak’st me hope in vain.
Thou say’st thou canst my harms repair,
Yet for redress, thou let’st me still complain.
Can love be rich, and yet I want?
Is love my judge, and yet I am condemned?
Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant:
Thou made a God, and yet thy power contemned.
That I do live, it is thy power:
That I desire it is thy worth:
If love doth make men’s lives too sour,
Let me not love, nor live henceforth.
Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
That you that of my fall may hearers be
May here despair, which truly saith,
I was more true to love than love to me.
What Poor Astronomers Are They
What poor astronomers are they, take women’s eyes for stars
And set their thoughts in battle ray to fight such idle wars,
When in the end they shall approve,
‘tis but a jest drawn out of love.
And love itself is but a jest devised by idle heads,
To catch young fancies in the nest and lay in fool’s beds.
That being hatcht in beauties eyes they may be fledg’d ere they be wise.
But yet it is a sport to see how wit will run on wheels,
While wit cannot persuaded be with that which reason feels:
That women’s eyes and stars are odd, and Love is but a fained god.
But such as will run made with will, I cannot clear their sight:
But leave them to their study still to look where is no light.
Till time too late we make them try, they study false Astronomy.
Fine Knacks For Ladies
Fine knacks for ladies, cheap choice brave and new,
Good Pennyworths but money cannot move,
I keep a fair but for the fair to view,
A beggar may be liberal of love,
Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true.
Great gifts are guile and look for gifts again
My trifles come, as treasures from my mind,
It is a precious jewel to be plain,
Sometimes in shell the Orient’s pearls we find,
Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain.
Within this pack pins points laces and gloves,
And divers toys fitting a country fair,
But in my heart where duty serves and loves,
Turtles and twins, court’s brood, a heav’nly pair,
Happy the heart that thinks of no removes.
Sweet Cupid, Ripen Her Desire
Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire, thy joyful harvest may begin,
If age approach a little nigher twill be too late to get it in.
Cold Winter storms lay standing corn, which once to ripe will never rise,
And lovers wish themselves unborn, when all their joys lie in their eyes.
Then sweet, let us embrace and kiss, shall beauty shale upon the ground?
If age bereave us of this bliss, then will no more such sport be found.
I Care Not For These Ladies
I care not for these ladies that must be woo’d and pray’d;
Give me kind Amaryllis, the wanton country maid.
Nature art disdaineth; her beauty is her own.
Her when we court and kiss, she cries: forsooth, let go!
But when we come where comfort is, she never will say No.
If I love Amaryllis, she gives me fruit and flow’rs
But if we love these ladies, we must give golden show’rs,
Give them gold that sell love; give me the nut-brown lass,
Who when we …
These Ladies must have pillows, and beds by strangers wrought,
Give me a bow’r of willows, of moss and leaves unbought,
And fresh Amaryllis with milk and honey fed,
Who when we …
Shall I Come Sweet Love
Shall I come sweet Love to thee, When the ev’ning beams are set?
Shall I not excluded be? Will you find no fained 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 unredressed, ere my long love be possessed.
But to let such dangers pass, Which a lovers thoughts disdain:
‘Tis enough in such a place to attend loves joys in vain.
Do not mock me in thy bed, while these cold nights freeze me dead.
It Fell On A Summer’s Day
It fell on a summer’s day while sweet Bessy sleeping lay
In her bow’r, on her bed, light with curtains shadowed,
Jamie came, she him spies, Op‘ning half her heavy eyes.
Jamie stole in through the door, she lay slumb’ring as before.
Softly to her he drew near; she heard him, yet would not hear.
Bessy vowed not to speak; he resolved that vow to break.
First a soft kiss he doth take; she lay still and would not wake.
Then his hands learn’d to woo; she dreamt not what he would do,
But still slept, while he smiled to see love by sleep beguiled.
Jamie then began to play; Bessy as one buried lay.
Gladly still through this sleight deceived in her own deceit
And since this trance begun, she sleeps ev‘ry afternoon.
All Looks Be Pale
All looks be pale, hearts cold as stone,
For Holly now is dead and gone,
Holly in whose sight, most sweet sight,
All the earth late took delight.
Ev’ry eye weep with me
Joys drowned in tears must be.
His iv’ry skin, his comely hair,
His rosie cheeks so dear, and fair:
Eyes that once did grace his bright face,
Now in him all want their place
Eyes and hearts weep with me
For who so kind as he.
His youth was like an April flowre,
Adorn’d with beauty, love and powre,
Glory strow’d his way, whose wreaths gay
Now are all turn’d to decay.
Then again weep with me
Since more him none shall see.
No more may his wisht sight return.
His golden Lamp no more can burn;
Quencht is all his flame, his hop’t fame
Now hath left him nought but name.
For him all weep with me
Since more him none shall see.
If She Forsake Me
If she forsake me I must die, Shall I tell her so,
Alas then straight will she reply, No, no, no, no, no.
If I disclose my desp’rate state
She will but make sport thereat
And more unrelenting grow.
What heart can long such pains abide, Fie, upon this love
I would adventure far and wide, if it would remove,
But Love will still my steps pursue
I cannot his ways eschew,
Thus still helpless hopes I prove.
I do my love in lines commend, but alas in vain,
The costly gifts that I do send, she returns again.
Thus still is my despair procur’d,
And her malice more assur’d,
Then come Death and end my pain.
Now What Is Love
Now what is Love, I pray thee tell? It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasures and repentance dwell. It is perhaps that sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell. And this is love as I hear tell.
Now what is Love, I pray thee fain? 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 sayen.
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 moe.
And he that proves shall find it so. And this is Love, as I well know.
Rest Sweet Nymphs
Rest sweet Nymphs let golden sleep, charm your star brighter eyes,
Whiles my lute the watch doth keep with pleasing sympathies,
Lul-la, lul-la-by,
Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly, let nothing affright ye,
In calm contentments lie.
Dream fair virgins of delight, and blest Elisian groves:
Whiles the wand’ring shades of night, resemble your true loves:
Lul-la, lul-la-by,
Your kisses your blisses send them by your wishes
Although they be not nigh.
Thus fair damzels I do give good night and so am gone:
With your hearts desires long live still joy, and never moan:
Lul-la, lul-la-by,
Hath pleas’d you and eas’d you, and sweet slumber seiz’d you,
And now to bed I hie.
Whether Men Do Laugh or Weep
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.
Pow’rs 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.
Tell Me, O Love
Shepherd: Tell me O Love, when shall it be
That thy fair eyes shall shine on me?
When nothing now reviveth.
Nymph: I pray thee Shepherd leave thy fears,
Drown not thy heart and eyes with tears,
Such sighs my sense depriveth.
S: Alas sweet Nymph, I cannot choose
Since thou estranged lives from me,
N: O do not me for that accuse,
My Love, my life doth live in thee,
Alas, what joy is in such love that ever lives apart
And never other comforts prove, but cares that kill the heart?
O let me die, and so will I,
Yet stay sweet Love and sing this song with me
Time brings to pass what love thinks could not be.
When From My Love
When from my love I looked for love and kind affections due,
Too well I found her vows to prove most faithless and untrue.
For when I did ask her why, most sharply she did reply
That she with me did ne’er agree to love but jestingly.
Mark but the subtle policies that female lovers find,
Who love to fix their constancies like feathers in the wind.
Though they swear, vow and protest that they love you chiefly best,
Yet by and by they’ll all deny and say ‘twas but in jest.
O Mistress Mine
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting
Journey’s end in lovers meeting
Ev’ry wise man’s son doth know.
O what is love? ‘Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
It Was a Lover And His Lass
It was a lover and his lass,
with a haye, with a hoe and a haye non-i-no.
That o’er the green corn fields did pass
In spring time, the only pretty ring time
When birds do sing, haye ding-a-ding-a-ding
Sweet lovers love the spring.
Between the Acres of the rye,
with a haye, with a hoe and a haye non-i-no.
These pretty country folk would lie,
In spring time …
Then pretty lovers take the time,
with a haye, with a hoe and a haye non-i-no.
For love is crowned with the prime,
In spring time …
