Heart and Soul do Sing in me
(Written to the Tune of a Spanish Song)
O 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.
Wooing Stuff
FAINT Amorist, what! dost thou think To taste Love's honey, and not drink One dram of gall? or to devour A world of sweet and taste no sour? Dost thou ever think to enter
The Elysian flelds that dar'st not venture In Charon's barge? A lover's mind Must use to sail with every wind.
He that loves, and fears to try, Learns his mistress to deny. Doth she chide thee? 'tis to shew it That thy coldness makes her do it. Is she silent? is she mute? Silence fully grants thy suit.
Doth she pout, and leave the room? Then she goes to bid thee come. Is she sick? Why, then be sure She invites thee to the cure. Doth she cross thy suit with "No"? Tush, she loves to hear thee woo. Doth she call the faith of man
In question? Nay, she loves thee then ; And if e'er she makes a blot,
She's lost if that thou hitt'st her not.
He that after ten denials Dares attempt no further trials, Hath no warrant to acquire
The dainties of his chaste desire.
"SLEEP, baby mine," Desire's 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 alway good rest taking."
The babe cries, "Way, thy love doth keep me 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."
WHO hath his fancy pleasèd With fruits of happy sight Let here his eyes be raisèd On Nature's sweetest light- A light which doth dissever And yet unite the eyes:
A light which-dying never- Is cause the looker dies.
She never dies but lasteth In life of lover's heart; He ever dies that wasteth In love his chiefest part. Thus is her life still guarded In never-dying faith;
Thus is his death rewarded, Since she lives in his death.
Look, then, and die,-the pleasure Doth answer well the pain : Small loss of mortal treasure Who may immortal gain. Immortal be her graces; Immortal is her mind :
They, fit for heavenly places ; This, heaven in it doth bind.
But eyes these beauties see not, Nor sense that grace descries, Yet eyes deprived be not From sight of her fair eyes, Which, as of inward glory They are the outward seal,
So may they live still sorry Which die not in that weal.
But who hath fancies pleasèd With fruits of happy sight
Let here his eyes be raised On Nature's sweetest light.
Bane and Balm
Aн, poor Love, why dost thou live Thus to see thy service lost? If she will no comfort give,
Make an end, yield up the ghost, That she may at length approve That she hardly long believed,— That the heart will die for love That is not in time relieved. Oh, that ever I was born
Service so to be refused,— Faithful love to be foreborne !
Never love was so abused.
But, sweet love, be still awhile ;
She that hurt thee, Love, may heal thee.
Sweet, I see within her smile
More than reason can reveal thee; For though she be rich and fair, Yet she is both wise and kind, And therefore do thou not despair, But thy faith may fancy find. Yet although she be a queen, That may such a snake despise, Yet, with silence all unseen,
Run and hide thee in her eyes, Where if she will let thee die
Yet, at latest gasp of breath,
Say that in a lady's eye
Love both took his life and death.
In Death's Despite
(To the tune of a Neapolitan Song)
No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe, Although with cruel fire,
First thrown on my desire, She sacks my rendered sprite. For so fair a flame embraces All the places
Where that heat of all heats springeth That it bringeth
To my dying heart some pleasure, Since his treasure
Burneth bright in fairest light.
No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe, Although with cruel fire,
First thrown on my desire, She sacks my rendered sprite. Since our lives be not immortal, But to mortal
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