Thy turrets and thy pinnacles Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem, Thy joys that I might see! Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers Quite through the streets, with silver sound, There trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do sing. Our Lady sings Magnificat With tones surpassing sweet; And all the virgins bear their part, Sitting about her feet. Hierusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, L 62. Icarus Robert Jones's Second Book of OVE wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high: For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take. But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorch'd and consumed with fire now drown'd in woe they lie. And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though fate frowned, And now drowned They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heav'n for whose fair love they fell. Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602 Y Love in her attire doth show her wit, MY It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer. When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. 64. How can the Heart forget her? AT Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602 T her fair hands how have I grace entreated Yet still my love is thwarted: Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted— O no, no, no, no, no! She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted. How often have my sighs declared my anguish, Yet still she doth procure it: Heart, let her go, for I can not endure it— O no, no, no, no, no! She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. But shall I still a true affection owe her, Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me- O no, no, no, no, no! She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. But if the love that hath and still doth burn me No love at length return me, Out of my thoughts I'll set her : Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her! Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! Fix'd in the heart, how can the heart forget her? ? F. or W. Davison 65. 66. I ANONYMOUS Tears John Dowland's Third and Last WEEP you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; While she lies sleeping Sleeping. My Lady's Tears John Dowland's Third and Last SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And all things with so sweet a sadness move O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! O strive not to be excellent in woe, 67. Sister, Awake! Thomas Bateson's First Set of English Madrigals, 1604 ISTER, awake! close not your eyes! SISTER The day her light discloses, And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See the clear sun, the world's bright eye, In at our window peeping: Lo, how he blusheth to espy Us idle wenches sleeping! Therefore awake! make haste, I say, And let us, without staying, |