Die, but yet before thou die, Make her know what she hath gotten, She in whom my hopes did lie Now is changed, I quite forgotten. She is changed, but changèd base, Baser in so vild a place.
From THOMAS WEELKES' _Madrigals of Five and Six Parts_, 1600.
Cold Winter's ice is fled and gone, And Summer brags on every tree, The red-breast peeps amidst the throng Of wood-born birds that wanton be: Each one forgets what they have been, And so doth Phyllis, Summer's queen.
From JOHN DOWLAND's _First Book of Songs or Airs_, 1597.
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, ruing, love's long pain; Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
Come away![3] 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 heavenly fire.
Come away! come, sweet Love! Do not in vain adorn Beauty's grace, that should rise Like to our naked morn! Lilies on the river's side, And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown, Desire no beauties but their own: Ornament is nurse of pride. Pleasure measure[s] love's delight: Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!
[3] This stanza is not in the original, but is added in _England's Helicon_.
From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
Come, O come, my life's delight! Let me not in languor pine! Love loves no delay; thy sight The more enjoyed, the more divine! O come, and take from me The pain of being deprived of thee!
Thou all sweetness dost enclose, Like a little world of bliss; Beauty guards thy looks, the rose In them pure and eternal is: Come, then, and make thy flight As swift to me as heavenly light!
From THOMAS FORD's _Music of Sundry Kinds_, 1607.
Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers: Here shelter is from sharpest showers, Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades, Danger none this place invades; Here sit and note the chirping birds Pleading my love in silent words.