Saint of my heart, queen of my life and love,
Oh let my vows thy loving spirit move!
Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain,
But with one touch of grace cure all my pain.
THOMAS CAMPION

TH

1

HRICE toss these oaken ashes in the air,1 Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair, Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot And murmur soft, "She will or she will not ".

Go burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,
These screech-owls' feathers, and this prickling briar,
This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
That all my fears and cares an end may have.

Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!
Melt her hard heart with your
melodious sound!
In vain are all the charms I can devise:

She hath an art to break them with her eyes.

SWEET,

2

THOMAS CAMPION

WEET, come again!
Your happy sight, so much desired
you from hence are now retired,
I seek in vain :

Since

Still I must mourn,

And pine in longing pain,

Till you, my life's delight, again

Vouchsafe your wish'd return!

1 From a Third Book of Airs by Thomas Campion (circa 1613).

2 From a Book of Airs by Thomas Campion and Philip Rosseter, lutenist (1601).

If true desire

Or faithful vow of endless love,

Thy heart inflamed may kindly move
With equal fire,

O then my joys,
So long distraught, shall rest
Reposed safe in thy chaste breast
Exempt from all annoys.

You had the power

My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain,
You first did hear my love speak plain;
A child before,

Now is it grown

Confirmed, do you it keep!

And let 't safe in your bosom sleep,
There ever made your own.1,

WH

THOMAS CAMPION

WHEN to her lute Corinna sings,2
Her voice revives the leaden strings,

And doth in highest notes appear

As any challenged echo clear,

But when she doth of mourning speak

E'en with her sighs the strings do break.

And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I :
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she doth of sorrow speak,

E'en from my heart the strings do break.

1 Last verse omitted.

THOMAS CAMPION

2 From a Book of Airs by Thomas Campion and Philip Rosseter, lutenist (1601).

FAIN would I change that note 1

To which fond love hath charmed me,

Long long to sing by rote,

Fancying that that harmed me :
Yet when this thought doth come,
"Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight,"

I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love, they wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee;

I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart

And fall before thee.2

ANON.

WEET Love, my only treasure,3
For service long unfeigned
Wherein I nought have gained,
Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
To tell me in what part
My Lady keeps her heart.

1 From Captain Tobias Hume's The First Part of Airs, French, Polish, and others together (1605).

2 This exquisite lyric is printed in The Lyrics from Elizabethan Song Books, edited by Mr. A. H. Bullen, to whom the editor wishes to express his indebtedness.

3 From Robert Jones's Ultimum Vale, or, Third Book of Airs (1608).

If in her hair so slender,
Like golden nets entwined,
Which fire and art have 'fined,
Her thrall my heart I render
For ever to abide

With locks so dainty tied.

If in her eye she bind it,
Wherein that fire was framed
By which it is enflamed,
I dare not look to find it,
I only wish it sight
To see that pleasant light.

But if her breast have deigned
With kindness to receive it,
I am content to leave it

Though death thereby were gained.
Then Lady, take your own
That lives by you alone.

LOVE not me for comely grace,1

For my pleasing eye or face,

Nor for any outward part :

No, nor for a constant heart!

For these may fail or turn to ill :

So thou and I shall sever.

Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why!
So hast thou the same reason still

To doat upon me ever.

ANON.

ANON.

1 From John Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals (1609).

ΟΝ

time the amorous Silvy 1

ON 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, now day is near.'

THOSE eyes that set my fancy on a fire,2

ANON.

Those crisped hairs that hold my heart in chains, Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,

That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins : Then Love, be judge, what heart may therewith stand Such eyes, such head, such wit, and such a hand? Those eyes for clearness doth the stars surpass, Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun, Those hands more white than ever ivory was,

1 From John Attye's First Book of Airs (1622). 2 From William Barley's New Book of Tabliture (1596).