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In day by fained looks they live,
By lying dreams by night;

Each frown a deadly wound doth give,
Each smile a false delight;

If 't hap the lady pleasant seem,
It is for others' love they deem;
If void she seem of joy,

Disdain doth make her coy.

Such is the peace that lovers find,

Such is the life they lead;

Blown here and there with every wind,

Like flowers in the mead;

Now war, now peace, now war again,
Desire, despair, delight, disdain;

Though dead, in midst of life;
In peace, and yet at strife.

By FRANCIS DAVIDSON, son of William Davidson, secretary to Queen Elizabeth, who suffered so much through that princess's caprice and cruelty in the tragical affair of Mary Queen of Scots.

LOVE LOVETH MOST IN SECRET.

THE fountains smoke, and yet no flames they show,
Stars shine all night, though undiscern'd by day;

The trees do spring, yet are not seen to grow,
And shadows move, although they seem to stay;

In winter's woe, is buried summer's bliss,
And love loves most when love most secret is.

GEORGE HERBERT.

The stillest streams descry the greatest deep,
The clearest sky is subject to a shower;
Conceit's most sweet, whereas it seems to sleep,

And fairest days do in the morning lower;

The silent groves, sweet nymphs they cannot miss,
For love loves most when love most secret is.

The rarest jewels hidden virtue yield,

The sweet of traffic is a secret gain;

The year once old doth show a barren field,

And plants seem dead, and yet they spring again;

Cupid is blind, the reason why, is this,

Love loveth most, when love most secret is.

From Jones' " Garden of Delights," 1600.

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SWEET DAY SO COOL.

SWEET day so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

By GEORGE HERBERT, born 1593, died 1632 or 1633.

THOMAS RAVENSCROFT, B. M. was an eminent English Musician and Publisher, who flourished betwixt the years 1600 and 1635.

Besides the Melismata, about to be noticed, Ravenscroft was author of " A brief Discourse of the true but neglected use of characterizing the degrees by their perfection and diminution, in measurable music, against the common practice and custom of the times," London, 1614, 4to. He also edited and composed the best collection of Psalm Tunes, which, till then, had appeared in England, in four parts, published in 1621-23, 8vo. This book contains a melody for every one of the hundred and fifty Psalms, many of them by the editor himself.

The following varieties are selected from a beautiful single 4to. volume, the same size with that of Byrd and Morley, containing twenty-three separate pieces with music, in parts, entitled, "Melismata, Mvsicall Phansies, fitting the Covrt, Citie, and Covntrey hvmovrs, to three, four, and five voyces:

To all delightfull, except to the spitefull,

To none offensiue, except to the pensiue. London, printed by William Stansby for Thomas Adams, 1611."

The work is preceded by two dedications, the first of which is addressed to "the Right worshippfull, the true

RAVENSCROFT'S MELISMATA.

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favourers of Musicke and all vertue, Mr. Thomas Ravenscroft and Mr. William Ravenscroft, Esquires, to whom he subscribes himself their affectionate kinseman, T. R.” The second dedication is a general one, being addressed "To the noblest of the Court, liberallest of the Countrey, and freest of the Citie," wherein he states, "that, being little or much beholden to some of each rank [in selecting materials for this work], I study and strive to please in your own elements."

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The most of the pieces contained in the "Melismata," may be ascribed to a much older date than the time of Ravenscroft. We believe that this worthy musician has availed himself, by culling a few lays here and there, as best suited his purpose, from the floating song literature of the day, thereby diversifying and rendering more valuable his selection than it otherwise would have been, had he composed the poetry for his airs, as Byrd and a few others about this period seem to have done.

THE COURTIER'S GOOD-MORROW TO HIS MISTRESS,

FROM COURT VARIETIES.

CANST thou love and lie alone?

Love is so disgraced!
Pleasure is best wherein is rest

In a heart embraced.

Rise, rise, rise,

Daylight do not burn out,

Bells do ring and birds do sing,

Only I that mourn out.

Morning star doth now appear,
Wind is hush'd, and sky is clear;
Come, come away, come, come away,
Canst thou love and burn out day?
Rise, rise, rise, &c.

THE CROWNING OF BELPHEBE.

Now flowers your odours breathe,
And all the air perfume;
Grow in this honour'd wreath,

And with no storms consume.

Hail, hail, and welcome her,
Thou glory of our green;
Receive this flowery sphere,
And be the shepherd's queen.

Oh kneel, and do her homage now,
That calls our hearts like fate;
Now rise, your humble bosoms bow,
And lead her to her state.

MERCURY'S SONG, THE MESSENGER OF THE GODS.

HASTE, haste, post-haste, make haste, and away,
The tide tarrieth no man, it makes no delay;
Trudge, trudge, for thy life, for virtue must fly,
These journeys are rife with thee, poor Mercury.

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