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"Worthy Sir,

Among many patrons of Art, and musical endeavours, "I am emboldened to rank your name, as I know you not "inferior to the best, as well for a lover of music, as a "competent judge of that noble faculty; so I present you "here with such numbers best fitting your innated harmony, and I hope not unworthy your patronage. And "though I know the excellent variety of these compositions "hath fed time with fullness, and bred many censors, more "curious than perhaps judicial; and since no science car"ries so sufficient authority in itself, but must needs sub"mit to that monster opinion, half truth, half falsehood; yet these of mine being thus fronted with your countenance, digested by your ear, and allowed in your knowledge; should they prove distasteful with the queasiepalated, or surfeited delight; yet with the sound, unsub"ject to such disease of humour and appetite, I presume they will pleasingly relish, and maintain me against the corrupted number of time-sick humourists. These, ho"noured Sir, are the primitiæ of my muse, planted in your pleasure, and cherished by the gentle calm of your fa66 vours. What I may produce hereafter is wholly yours; (as who hath more right to the fruit than he that owneth "the stock?) If then you accept instead of real worth, "this my humble tribute of affection, I shall study to use "that grace with my time to the best advantage, and till I may better deserve you, in my utmost abilities ever rest,

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"Your Worship's in all serviceable

"endeavour and devotion,

"JOHN WARD."

The set contains twenty-eight Madrigals.

CCCV.

My true love hath my heart, and I have his ;
By just exchange, one for the other given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,

There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,

I cherish his, because in me it bides.

From Sir P. Sidney's Arcadia. There is a second part in the same style, but it is not worth copying. The laborious efforts to produce an effect by a sort of logical argument in every line become very fatiguing.

say,

CCCVI.

dear life, when shall these twin-born berries, So lovely ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?

Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not nay) those cherries? O let them not with summer's heat be blasted. Nature, thou know'st, bestow'd them free on thee; Then be thou kind-bestow them free on me.

A poetical circumlocution for "Give me a kiss.”

CCCVII.

Go, wailing accents, go
To the author of my woe!

Say, dear, why hide you so from him your eyes,
Where he beholds his earthly paradise?

Since he hides not his heart from you,

Wherein love's heaven you may view.

CCCVIII.

Fly not so fast, my only joy and jewel;
Pity at least my tears, O be not cruel!
Ah! me, alas! she's gone and left me,
Die, die, my heart-all joy is now bereft me.

CCCIX.

A satyr once did run away for dread,

At sound of horn which he himself did blow; Fearing, and fear'd thus from himself he fled, Deeming strange ill in that he did not know.

Such causeless fears when coward minds do take,
It makes them fly that which they fain would have;
As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake,

Thinking not why, but how, himself to save.

From Sir P. Sidney's Sonnets and Translations. The first four lines only are set to music by Ward.

CCCX.

O my thoughts, my thoughts, surcease!
Your delights my woes increase;

My life melts with too much thinking.
Think no more, but die in me;

Till thou shalt revived be,

At her lips sweet nectar drinking.

From "Astrophel and Stella," a poem by Sir P. Sidney.

CCCXI.

Sweet pity, wake, and tell my cruel sweet,
That if my death her honour might increase;
I would lay down my life at her proud feet,
And willing die-and dying, hold my peace.
I only live; and living, mercy cry;

Because her glory in my death would die.

These are the concluding lines of a Sonnet to Pity, by Francis Davison, son of William Davison, the unfortunate Secretary to Queen Elizabeth; whose name is so well known in reference to the inhuman murder of Mary Queen of Scotland.

CCCXII.

Love is a dainty mild and sweet,

A gentle power, a feeling fine and tender;
So that those harms, and pains unmeet,

Which I do passe*, thou only dost engender:

* Suffer. From the Latin.

Only to him, his torments love deviseth,

That scorns his laws, and all his rites despiseth.

A translation by B. Yonge, 1598, from a Spanish work called Diana, by George De Montemayor.

CCCXIII.

How long wilt thou with mournful music stain
The cheerful notes this pleasant valley yields;
Where all good haps a perfect state maintain?
O cruel hap! now hateful be the fields
Where first mine eyes were causers of my pain.

This is part of a dialogue in Sir P. Sidney's Arcadia between two shepherds, Plangus and Basilicus. Ward has altered the two last lines. The original runs thus :-

"Curst be good haps, and curst be they that build
"Their hopes on haps, and do not make despair
"For all those certain blows, the surest shield."

CCCXIV.

Sweet Philomel, cease thou thy song awhile,

And will thy mates their melodies to leave;

And all at once attend my mournful stile,

If

Which will of mirth your sugred notes bereave.
you desire the burden of my song,

I sigh and sob, for Phillis I did wrong.

Ye sylvan nymphs, that in these woods do shroud,
To you my mournful sorrows I declare;

Ye savage satyrs, let your ears be bow'd,

To hear my woe your sacred selves prepare.