But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; And all things with so sweet a sadness move 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! 1600. 18 Anonymous. WEEP YOU NO MORE, SAD FOUNTAINS From John Dowland's Third and Last Book of WEEP you no more, sad fountains; Sleeping. 1603. Wooing Song Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; While she lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. 18 Anonymous. WOOING SONG LOVE is the blossom where there blows Love the strong and weak doth yoke, He burns the fishes in the seas: ΙΟ Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay And of all love's joyful flame Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! See, see the flowers that below Now as fresh as morning blow; Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade. Is gladly bruised to make me wine: 1610. 20 30 46 Giles Fletcher. CHERRY-RIPE THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies grow; Those cherries fairly do enclose Her eyes like angels watch them still; 1606. 12 18 Thomas Campion. FOLLOW YOUR SAINT FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet! There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love: But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again! All that I sung still to her praise did tend; Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight! 1601. 12 Thomas Campion. MADRIGAL From Davison's Poetical Rhapsody My Love in her attire doth show her wit, 1602. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Anonymous |