W

HEN LOVE, puft up with rage of high disdain,
Resolved to make me pattern of his might;
Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite,
Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain;
He would not, armed with beauty, only reign
On those affects, which easily yield to sight;
But virtue sets so high, that reason's light,
For all his strife, can only bondage gain.

So that I live to pay a mortal fee.
Dead palsy sick of all my chiefest parts:

Like those, whom dreams make ugly monsters see,
And can cry, "Help!" with nought but groans and starts.
Longing to have, having no wit to wish :

To starving minds, such is god CUPID's dish!

To the tune of Non credo gia che piu infelice amante.

HE FIRE to see my wrongs, for anger burneth;
The Air in rain, for my affliction weepeth;
The Sea to ebb, for grief, his flowing turneth;
The Earth with pity dull, the centre keepeth:
Fame is with wonder blazed;

Time runs away for sorrow;
Peace standeth still, amazed,

To see my night of evils, which hath no morrow.
Alas, a lovely She no pity taketh,

To know my miseries; but, chaste and cruel,
My fall her glory maketh:

Yet still her eyes give to my flames, their fuel.

Fire, burn me quite, till sense of burning leave me!
Air, let me draw no more thy breath in anguish!.

Sea, drowned in thee, of tedious life bereave me !

Earth, take this earth, wherein my spirits languish !

Fame, say I was not born!

Time, haste my dying hour!
Place, see my grave uptorn!

Fire, air, sea, earth, fame, time, place show your power!
Alas, from all their help, I am exiled:

For hers am I, and death fears her displeasure.
Fie, death! thou art beguiled!

Though I be hers, she makes of me no treasure.

To the same tune.

HE Nightingale—as soon as April bringeth
Unto her rested sense, a perfect waking;

While late bare earth, proud of new clothing,
springeth-

Sings out her woes, a thorn her song book making.
And mournfully bewailing,

Her throat in tunes expresseth
What grief her breast oppresseth

For THEREUS' force, on her chaste will prevailing.
O PHILOMELA fair! O take some gladness!
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness.
Thine earth now springs! mine fadeth;

Thy thorn without! my thorn my heart invadeth.

Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish

But THEREUS' love; on her, by strong hand wroken;
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
Full woman-like, complains her will was broken.
But I-who, daily craving,

Cannot have to content me

Have more cause to lament me:

Since wanting is more woe than too much having.

O PHILOMELA fair! O take some gladness!
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness.
Thine earth now springs! mine fadeth :
Thy thorn without! my thorn my heart invadeth.

To the tune of Basciami vita mia.

LEEP, baby mine, DESIRE!" Nurse BEAUTY singeth.

"Thy cries, O baby! set mine head on aching." The babe cries "Way! thy love doth keep me waking."

"Lully, lully, my babe! HOPE cradle bringeth;

Unto my children always good rest taking."

The babe cries "Way! thy love doth me keep waking."

"Since, baby mine! from me, thy watching springeth,
Sleep then a little! pap, CONTENT is making :
The babe cries "Nay! for that abide I waking."

To the tune of the Spanish song Se tu señora
no dueles de mi.

FAIR! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
In whom all joys so well agree;

Heart and soul do sing in me.

This you hear is not my tongue,
Which once said what I conceived;
For it was of use bereaved,

With a cruel answer stung.

No! though tongue to roof be cleaved,
Fearing lest he chastised be;

Heart and soul do sing in me.

O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,

In whom all joys so well agree;

Heart and soul do sing in me.

Just accord all music makes:

In thee just accord excelleth;

Where each part in such peace dwelleth,
One of other, beauty takes.

Since then truth to all minds telleth
That in thee, lives harmony:

Heart and soul do sing in me.

O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
In whom all joys so well agree;

Heart and soul do sing in me.

They that heaven have known, do say
That whoso that grace obtaineth
To see what fair sight there reigneth,
Forced are to sing alway.

So then, since that heaven remaineth
In thy face, I plainly see :

Heart and soul do sing in me.

O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
In whom all joys so well agree;

Heart and soul do sing in me.

Sweet! think not I am at ease,
For because my chief part singeth:
This song, from death's sorrow springeth;
As to swan in last disease.

For no dumbness, nor death bringeth
Stay to true love's melody:

Heart and soul do sing in me.