







 
   
     
       
         The first booke of songs or ayres of 4. parts vvith tableture for the lute or orpherian, vvith the violl de gamba. Newly composed by Francis Pilkington, Batcheler of Musick, and lutenist: and one of the Cathedrall Church of Christ, in the citie of Chester.
         Songs or ayres
         Pilkington, Francis, d. 1638.
      
       
         
           1605
        
      
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         A09653
         STC 19922
         ESTC S111835
         99847100
         99847100
         12112
         
           
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         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A09653)
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         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1114:1)
      
       
         
           
             The first booke of songs or ayres of 4. parts vvith tableture for the lute or orpherian, vvith the violl de gamba. Newly composed by Francis Pilkington, Batcheler of Musick, and lutenist: and one of the Cathedrall Church of Christ, in the citie of Chester.
             Songs or ayres
             Pilkington, Francis, d. 1638.
          
           [48] p. : music
           
             Printed by T. Este, dwelling in Aldersgate-streete, and are ther to be sould,
             London :
             1605.
          
           
             Signatures: A-M² .
             Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Part-songs, English -- Early works to 1800.
           Songs with lute -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           FIRST
           BOOKE
           OF
           Songs
           or
           Ayres
           of
           4.
           parts
           :
           vvith
           Tableture
           for
           the
           Lute
           or
           Orpherian
           ,
           with
           the
           Violl
           de
           Gamba
           .
        
         
           
             Newly
             composed
             by
             Francis
             Pilkington
          
           ,
           Batcheler
           of
           Musick
           ,
           and
           Lutenist
           :
           and
           one
           of
           the
           Cathedrall
           Church
           of
           Christ
           ,
           in
           the
           Citie
           of
           Chester
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           by
           T
           Este
           ,
           dwelling
           in
           Aldersgate-streete
           ,
           and
           are
           ther
           to
           be
           sould
           .
           1605.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           To
           the
           Right
           honourable
           VVilliam
           Earle
           of
           Darby
           ,
           Lord
           Stanly
           ,
           Lord
           Strange
           ,
           of
           Knocking
           and
           of
           the
           Isle
           of
           Man
           ,
           and
           Knight
           of
           the
           most
           noble
           Order
           of
           the
           Garter
           .
           
             Francis
             Pilkington
          
           wisheth
           health
           ,
           with
           increase
           of
           Honour
           in
           this
           life
           ,
           and
           Eternitie
           heereafter
           .
        
         
           ARistoxenus
           (
           thrice
           noble
           Lord
           )
           held
           that
           the
           Soule
           of
           man
           was
           Musicke
           :
           But
           that
           the
           being
           thereof
           was
           framed
           of
           Bumbees
           ,
           as
           the
           Pithagorians
           affirme
           :
           But
           for
           that
           it
           is
           the
           subiect
           and
           obiect
           of
           all
           harmonicall
           concents
           :
           Intimating
           heereby
           the
           dignitie
           and
           high
           renowne
           of
           that
           Art
           ,
           which
           descended
           from
           so
           noble
           a
           stemme
           ,
           seeketh
           by
           all
           meanes
           possible
           to
           nobilitate
           the
           same
           ,
           and
           that
           man
           to
           bee
           vnfit
           for
           the
           society
           and
           commerce
           of
           men
           ,
           that
           honoureth
           not
           so
           worthy
           a
           Jewell
           for
           the
           life
           of
           man.
           Which
           opinion
           verely
           is
           worthy
           Aristoxenus
           ,
           that
           is
           to
           say
           ,
           a
           noble
           Philosopher
           ,
           yet
           how
           litle
           squaring
           with
           the
           time
           ,
           experience
           a
           perfect
           Mistresse
           of
           truth
           hath
           a
           long
           time
           taught
           .
           For
           who
           regardeth
           the
           melodius
           charmes
           of
           Orpheus
           ,
           or
           enchanting
           melodie
           of
           Arion
           ?
           surely
           but
           a
           few
           ,
           
             Quos
             aequus
             amauit
             Iupiter
             dijs
             geniti
             ,
             aut
             ardeus
             euexit
             ad
             aethera
             virtus
             .
          
           Of
           which
           rancke
           seeing
           your
           Lordship
           hath
           giuen
           vndoubted
           testimonies
           of
           your
           honour
           to
           bee
           one
           :
           Musitions
           should
           commit
           an
           vndiscreet
           part
           of
           ingratitude
           not
           to
           acknowledge
           so
           great
           a
           fauour
           .
           For
           mine
           owne
           part
           (
           who
           am
           meanest
           of
           many
           which
           professe
           this
           diuine
           skill
           ,
           though
           not
           meanest
           in
           good
           will
           &
           humble
           affection
           to
           your
           Honor
           )
           I
           must
           confesse
           my selfe
           many
           waies
           obliged
           to
           your
           Lordships
           familie
           ,
           not
           onely
           ,
           for
           that
           my
           Father
           and
           Brother
           receiued
           many
           graces
           of
           your
           Honours
           noble
           Father
           ,
           whom
           they
           followed
           ,
           but
           that
           my self
           had
           the
           like
           of
           your
           most
           honorable
           Brother
           ,
           euen
           from
           the
           first
           notice
           he
           chanced
           to
           take
           of
           mee
           .
           And
           therfore
           (
           most
           honourable
           Lord
           )
           I
           haue
           heere
           presented
           this
           oblation
           ,
           howsoeuer
           meane
           ,
           a
           token
           of
           mine
           affectionate
           good
           will
           Loue
           ,
           yea
           onely
           deuoted
           to
           your
           Lordship
           ,
           which
           if
           it
           may
           gaine
           your
           gracious
           acceptation
           ,
           will
           feare
           neither
           Zoilus
           nor
           Momus
           his
           reprehension
           .
        
         
           
             Your
             Honours
             in
             all
             dutie
          
        
      
       
         
         
         
           THE
           TABLE
           .
        
         
           
             NOw
             peep
             ,
             boe
             peep
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             blest
             mine
             eies
             .
             I
          
           
             My
             choise
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             desire
             no
             change
             .
             II
          
           
             Can
             shee
             disdaine
             ,
             can
             I
             persist
             to
             Loue.
             III
          
           
             Alas
             faire
             face
             ,
             why
             doth
             that
             smoothed
             brow
             .
             IIII
          
           
             Whether
             so
             fast
             ,
             see
             how
             the
             kindly
             flowers
             perfumes
             the
             Aire
             .
             V
          
           
             Rest
             sweet
             Nimphes
             let
             goulden
             sleepe
             ,
             charme
             your
             Star
             brighter
             eies
             .
             VI
          
           
             Aye
             mee
             ,
             shee
             frownes
             ,
             my
             mistresse
             is
             offended
             .
             VII
          
           
             Now
             let
             her
             change
             and
             spare
             not
             ,
             since
             she
             proues
             false
             I
             care
             not
             .
             VIII
          
           
             Vnderneth
             a
             Cypris
             shade
             ,
             the
             Queene
             of
             Loue
             sate
             mourning
             .
             IX
          
           
             Sound
             wofull
             plaints
             in
             hills
             and
             woods
             .
             X
          
           
             You
             that
             pine
             in
             long
             desire
             .
             XI
          
           
             Looke
             Mistresse
             mine
             ,
             within
             this
             hollow
             brest
             .
             XII
          
           
             Clime
             O
             hart
             ,
             clime
             to
             thy
             rest
             .
             XIII
          
           
             Thanks
             gentle
             Moone
             for
             thy
             obscured
             light
             .
             XIIII
          
           
             I
             Sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             weare
             the
             fruit
             ,
             of
             the
             willow
             tree
             .
             XV
          
           
             Down
             a
             down
             ,
             thus
             Phillis
             sung
             ,
             by
             Fancie
             once
             opressed
             .
             XVI
          
           
             Diaphenia
             like
             the
             Dafdowndillie
             ,
             white
             as
             the
             Sunne
             ,
             faire
             as
             the
             Lillie
             XVII
          
           
             Beautie
             sate
             bathing
             by
             a
             spring
             ,
             where
             fairest
             shades
             did
             hide
             her
             .
             XVIII
          
           
             Musick
             deare
             solace
             ,
             to
             my
             thoughts
             neglected
             .
             XIX
          
           
             With
             fragrant
             flowers
             we
             strew
             the
             way
             .
             XX
          
           
             Come
             ,
             come
             all
             you
             that
             draw
             heauens
             purest
             breath
             .
             XXI
          
           
             A
             Pauin
             for
             the
             Lute
             and
             Base
             Violl
             .
             XXII
          
        
         
           ¶
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           I.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           NOw
           peep
           ,
           boe
           peep
           ,
           thrise
           happie
           blest
           mine
           eies
           ,
           For
           I
           haue
           found
           faire
           
           Phillis
           ,
           for
           I
           haue
           found
           faire
           Phillis
           where
           she
           lies
           ,
           Vpon
           her
           
           bed
           ,
           with
           armes
           vnspred
           ,
           all
           fast
           a
           sleepe
           ,
           Vnmaskt
           her
           face
           ,
           thrise
           happie
           grace
           ,
           fare-well
           ,
           
           fare-well
           my
           Sheepe
           ,
           Looke
           to
           your selues
           ,
           new
           charge
           I
           must
           ap
           -
           proue
           ,
           Phillis
           doth
           
           sleepe
           ,
           Phillis
           doth
           sleepe
           ,
           And
           I
           must
           guard
           my
           Loue.
           Looke
           .
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Now
             peep
             boe
             peep
             ,
             mine
             eyes
             to
             see
             your
             blisse
             ,
          
           
             Phillis
             closd
             eyes
             atrackts
             you
             ,
             hers
             to
             kisse
             :
          
           
             Oh
             may
             I
             now
             performe
             my
             vow
             ,
             loues
             ioy
             t'
             impart
             ,
          
           
             Assay
             the
             while
             ,
             how
             to
             be-guile
             ,
             farewell
             faint
             hart
             .
          
           
             Taken
             she
             is
             ,
             new
             ioyes
             I
             must
             approue
             ,
          
           
             Phillis
             doth
             sleep
             ,
             and
             I
             will
             kisse
             my
             Loue.
             
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Now
             peep
             ,
             boe
             peep
             ,
             be
             not
             too
             bould
             my
             hand
             ,
          
           
             Wake
             not
             thy
             Phillis
             ,
             feare
             shee
             doe
             with-stand
             :
          
           
             Shee
             stirs
             alas
             ,
             alas
             ,
             alas
             I
             faint
             in
             spright
             ,
          
           
             Shee
             opes
             her
             eie
             ,
             vnhappie
             I
             ,
             farewell
             delight
             .
          
           
             Awakt
             shee
             is
             ,
             new
             woes
             I
             must
             approue
             ,
          
           
             Phillis
             awakes
             ,
             and
             I
             must
             leaue
             my
             Loue.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             I.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             peep
             ,
             boe
             peep
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             blest
             mine
             eies
             ,
             For
             I
             haue
             found
             faire
             Phillis
             ,
             for
             I
             haue
             
             found
             faire
             Phillis
             where
             shee
             lies
             ,
             vp-on
             her
             bed
             ,
             vpon
             her
             bed
             ,
             vpon
             her
             bed
             with
             armes
             vnspred
             ,
             All
             
             fast
             a
             sleepe
             ,
             vnmas'kt
             her
             face
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             grace
             ,
             Farewell
             ,
             farewell
             my
             sheepe
             ,
             Looke
             to
             your selues
             ,
             
             looke
             to
             your selues
             ,
             new
             charge
             I
             must
             ap-proue
             ,
             Phillis
             doth
             sleepe
             ,
             Phillis
             doth
             sleepe
             and
             I
             must
             
             guard
             my
             Loue.
             Looke
             to
             your
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             I.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             peep
             ,
             boe
             peep
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             blest
             
             mine
             eies
             ,
             For
             I
             haue
             found
             faire
             Phillis
             ,
             for
             I
             haue
             
             found
             faire
             Phillis
             where
             shee
             lies
             ,
             Vpon
             her
             bed
             with
             
             armes
             vnspred
             ,
             all
             fast
             a
             sleepe
             ,
             Vnmas'kt
             her
             face
             ,
             thrise
             
             happie
             grace
             ,
             Farewell
             ,
             farewell
             my
             sheepe
             ,
             Looke
             to
             your
             
             selues
             ,
             new
             charge
             I
             must
             approue
             ,
             Phillis
             doth
             sleepe
             ,
             Phillis
             
             doth
             sleepe
             ,
             and
             I
             must
             guard
             my
             Loue.
             Looke
             to
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             I.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             peep
             ,
             boe
             peep
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             blest
             mine
             eies
             ,
             For
             I
             haue
             found
             my
             Phillis
             ,
             for
             I
             haue
             
             found
             my
             Phillis
             where
             shee
             lies
             ,
             Vpon
             her
             bed
             with
             armes
             vnspred
             ,
             vpon
             her
             bed
             with
             armes
             vnspred
             ,
             with
             
             armes
             vnspred
             ,
             all
             fast
             a
             sleepe
             ,
             vnmas'kt
             her
             face
             ,
             thrise
             happie
             grace
             ,
             Farewell
             ,
             farewell
             my
             sheepe
             ,
             Looke
             
             to
             your selues
             ,
             looke
             to
             your selues
             ,
             new
             charge
             I
             must
             ap-proue
             ,
             Phillis
             doth
             sleepe
             ,
             Phillis
             doth
             sleepe
             ,
             and
             
             I
             must
             guard
             my
             Loue.
             Looke
             to
             your
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           II.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           MY
           choice
           is
           made
           and
           I
           de
           -
           sire
           no
           change
           ,
           My
           wan
           -
           The
           de
           -
           serts
           wilde
           wherin
           my
           wits
           did
           range
           ,
           Are
           now
           
           dring
           thoughts
           in
           li
           -
           mits
           now
           are
           bound
           :
           Let
           him
           that
           list
           sooth
           hu
           -
           mors
           that
           made
           ea
           -
           sie
           walks
           and
           plea
           -
           sant
           ground
           :
           Let
           passions
           stil
           pos
           -
           sesse
           the
           i
           -
           
           be
           vaine
           ,
           Till
           va
           -
           ni
           -
           tie
           all
           meane
           ex
           -
           ceeds
           ,
           dle
           braine
           ,
           And
           care
           con
           -
           sume
           whom
           fol
           -
           ly
           feeds
           .
           I
           rest
           resolu'd
           no
           
           fancies
           fits
           can
           mee
           e
           -
           strange
           ,
           My
           choice
           is
           made
           ,
           and
           I
           
           de-sire
           no
           more
           to
           change
           .
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Change
             they
             their
             choice
             ,
             to
             whose
             delicious
             sence
             ,
          
           
             The
             strangest
             obiects
             are
             of
             most
             esteeme
             :
          
           
             Inconstant
             likeing
             may
             find
             excellence
             ,
          
           
             In
             things
             which
             (
             being
             not
             good
             )
             yet
             best
             doe
             seeme
             .
          
           
             Let
             gallant
             blouds
             still
             crowne
             their
             sports
             with
             ioy
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             honor
             ,
             wealth
             ,
             and
             pleasure
             fils
             :
          
           
             Let
             sweet
             contentment
             neuer
             find
             annoy
             ,
          
           
             While
             Fortune
             frames
             things
             to
             their
             wills
             .
          
           
             This
             stirs
             not
             mee
             ,
             I
             am
             the
             same
             ,
             I
             was
             before
             .
          
           
             My
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             desire
             to
             change
             no
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Be
             my
             choice
             blamde
             ,
             or
             be
             I
             thought
             vnwise
             ,
          
           
             To
             hold
             my
             choice
             ,
             by
             others
             not
             approued
             ,
          
           
             I
             say
             ,
             that
             to
             my selfe
             I
             fall
             or
             rise
             ,
          
           
             By
             feare
             ,
             or
             force
             I
             cannot
             be
             remoued
             .
          
           
             Let
             friends
             in
             pittie
             doubt
             of
             my
             successe
             ,
          
           
             Their
             pittie
             gets
             no
             thanks
             at
             all
             :
          
           
             Let
             foes
             be
             glad
             to
             see
             my
             hopes
             grow
             lesse
             ,
          
           
             I
             scorne
             the
             worst
             that
             wish
             they
             shall
             :
          
           
             Still
             stand
             I
             firme
             ,
             my
             hart
             is
             set
             ,
             and
             shall
             remaine
             ,
          
           
             My
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             neuer
             will
             I
             change
             againe
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             II.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             MY
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             de
             -
             sire
             no
             change
             ,
             my
             wandring
             thoughts
             in
             li
             -
             mits
             now
             are
             bound
             .
          
           
             The
             de
             -
             serts
             wilde
             ,
             wherin
             my
             wits
             did
             range
             ,
             are
             now
             made
             ea
             -
             sie
             walks
             and
             plea-sant
             ground
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             Let
             him
             that
             list
             sooth
             humors
             that
             be
             vaine
             ,
             till
             va
             -
             ni
             -
             tie
             ,
             till
             va
             -
             ni
             -
             tie
             all
             meane
             ex-ceedes
             .
          
           
             Let
             passions
             still
             pos
             -
             sesse
             the
             I
             -
             dle
             braine
             ,
             and
             care
             consume
             ,
             and
             care
             consume
             ,
             whom
             fol
             -
             lie
             feedes
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             I
             rest
             resolu'd
             ,
             no
             fancies
             fits
             can
             mee
             estrange
             ,
             my
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             desire
             no
             more
             to
             change
             .
          
        
         
           
             II.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             MY
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             de
             -
             sire
             no
             change
             ,
             my
             mandring
             The
             de
             -
             serts
             wilde
             ,
             wherin
             my
             wits
             did
             range
             ,
             are
             now
             made
             
             thoughts
             in
             li
             -
             mits
             now
             are
             bound
             .
             ea
             -
             sie
             walks
             and
             plea
             -
             sant
             gound
             .
             
             Let
             him
             that
             list
             sooth
             humors
             that
             be
             Let
             passions
             still
             pos-sesse
             the
             I
             -
             dle
             
             vaine
             ,
             till
             va
             -
             ni
             -
             tie
             ,
             all
             mene
             exceede
             .
             braine
             ,
             and
             care
             con-sume
             whom
             fo
             -
             lie
             feeds
             .
             
             I
             rest
             resolu'd
             ,
             no
             fancies
             sits
             
             can
             mee
             estrange
             ,
             my
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             desire
             no
             more
             to
             change
             .
          
        
         
           
             II.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             MY
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             de-sire
             no
             change
             ,
             my
             wandring
             thoughts
             in
             li
             -
             mits
             now
             are
             bound
             .
          
           
             The
             de
             -
             serts
             wilde
             ,
             wherin
             my
             wits
             did
             range
             ,
             are
             now
             made
             ea
             -
             sie
             walks
             and
             plea-sant
             ground
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             Let
             him
             that
             list
             sooth
             humors
             that
             be
             vaine
             ,
             till
             va
             -
             ni
             -
             tie
             ,
             till
             va
             -
             ni
             -
             tie
             all
             meane
             ex-ceedes
             .
          
           
             Let
             passions
             still
             pos
             -
             sesse
             the
             I
             -
             dle
             braine
             ,
             and
             care
             consume
             ,
             and
             care
             consume
             ,
             fol
             -
             lie
             feedes
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             I
             rest
             resolu'd
             ,
             no
             fancies
             fits
             can
             mee
             estrange
             ,
             my
             choice
             is
             made
             ,
             and
             I
             desire
             no
             more
             to
             change
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           III.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           CAn
           she
           disdaine
           can
           I
           per-sist
           to
           loue
           ,
           can
           she
           be
           cruell
           ,
           I
           subiected
           
           still
           .
           Time
           will
           my
           truth
           ,
           com
           -
           passi-on
           hers
           a
           -
           proue
           ,
           re
           -
           lease
           the
           
           thrald
           ,
           and
           con
           -
           quer
           fro
           -
           ward
           will.
           I
           loue
           not
           lust
           ,
           
           Oh
           ,
           oh
           therfore
           let
           her
           daigne
           ,
           to
           equal
           my
           de
           -
           sires
           ,
           to
           ij
           .
           my
           de
           -
           
           sires
           with
           like
           a
           -
           gaine
           .
           I
           loue
           not
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Am
             I
             not
             pleasing
             in
             her
             prouder
             eies
             ,
          
           
             Oh
             that
             she
             knew
             Loues
             power
             as
             well
             as
             I
             ,
          
           
             Wittie
             she
             is
             ,
             but
             Loues
             more
             wittie
             wise
             ,
          
           
             She
             breathes
             on
             earth
             ,
             he
             Raignes
             in
             heauen
             on
             high
             .
          
           
             I
             loue
             not
             lust
             ,
             oh
             therefore
             let
             her
             daigne
             ,
          
           
             To
             equall
             my
             desires
             with
             like
             againe
             .
          
        
         
           
             Loue
             scornes
             the
             abiect
             earth
             his
             sacred
             fires
             ,
          
           
             Vnites
             diuided
             mindes
             disseuers
             none
             ,
          
           
             Contempt
             springs
             out
             of
             fleshly
             base
             desires
             ,
          
           
             Setting
             debate
             twixt
             loue
             and
             vnion
             .
          
           
             I
             loue
             not
             lust
             ,
             oh
             therefore
             let
             her
             daigne
             ,
          
           
             To
             equall
             my
             desires
             ,
             with
             like
             againe
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             III.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             CAn
             shee
             disdaine
             ,
             can
             I
             persist
             to
             loue
             ,
             Can
             shee
             be
             cruell
             I
             subiected
             still
             .
             Time
             
             will
             my
             truth
             compassion
             hers
             a
             proue
             ,
             release
             the
             thrald
             ,
             and
             conquer
             fro
             -
             ward
             will.
             I
             
             loue
             not
             lust
             ,
             I
             loue
             not
             lust
             .
             Oh
             therefore
             let
             her
             daigne
             ,
             to
             equall
             my
             desires
             ,
             to
             ij
             .
             
             with
             like
             a
             gaine
             .
             I
             loue
             not
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             III.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             CAn
             shee
             disdaine
             ,
             Can
             I
             persist
             to
             loue
             ,
             can
             shee
             bee
             cruell
             
             I
             subiected
             still
             .
             Time
             will
             my
             truth
             compassion
             hers
             a
             -
             proue
             ,
             
             release
             the
             thrald
             and
             conquer
             froward
             will.
             I
             loue
             not
             lust
             ,
             Oh
             
             therefore
             let
             her
             daigne
             ,
             oh
             ij
             .
             To
             equall
             my
             desires
             ,
             
             to
             ij
             .
             with
             like
             againe
             .
             I
             loue
             not
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             III.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             CAn
             shee
             disdaine
             ,
             can
             I
             persist
             to
             loue
             ,
             can
             shee
             be
             cruell
             I
             subiected
             still
             .
             Time
             will
             in
             truth
             
             compassion
             hers
             approue
             ,
             release
             the
             thrald
             and
             conquer
             fro
             -
             ward
             will.
             I
             loue
             not
             lust
             Oh
             therefore
             
             let
             her
             daigne
             ,
             Oh
             ij
             .
             to
             equall
             my
             desires
             ,
             to
             equall
             my
             desires
             with
             like
             a
             gaine
             .
             I
             loue
             not
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           IIII.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           ALas
           faire
           face
           why
           doth
           that
           smoo
           -
           All
           in
           them selues
           con
           -
           firme
           a
           scorn
           -
           
           thed
           brow
           :
           those
           speaking
           eies
           ros'd
           lips
           ,
           and
           blush-ing
           beautie
           .
           full
           vow
           :
           to
           spoile
           my
           hopes
           of
           loue
           ,
           my
           loue
           of
           du-tie
           .
           The
           time
           
           hath
           bin
           ,
           when
           I
           was
           bet
           -
           
           ter
           grast
           :
           I
           now
           the
           same
           ,
           and
           yet
           
           that
           time
           is
           past
           .
           
        
         
           
             Is
             it
             because
             that
             thou
             art
             onely
             faire
             ,
          
           
             Oh
             no
             such
             gracefull
             lookes
             banish
             disdaine
             ,
          
           
             How
             then
             ,
             to
             feede
             my
             passions
             with
             dispaire
             ,
          
           
             Feede
             on
             sweet
             loue
             ,
             so
             I
             be
             loued
             againe
             .
          
           
             Well
             may
             thy
             publike
             scorne
             ,
             and
             outward
             pride
             ,
          
           
             Inward
             affections
             ,
             and
             best
             likings
             hide
             .
          
        
         
           
             Breath
             but
             a
             gentle
             aire
             ,
             and
             I
             shall
             liue
             ,
          
           
             Smyle
             in
             a
             clowde
             ,
             so
             shall
             my
             hopes
             renue
             ,
          
           
             One
             kind
             regard
             ,
             and
             second
             seing
             giue
             ,
          
           
             One
             rising
             Morne
             ,
             and
             my
             blacke
             woes
             subdue
             .
          
           
             If
             not
             ,
             yet
             looke
             vpon
             the
             friendly
             Sunne
             ,
          
           
             That
             by
             his
             beames
             ,
             my
             beames
             to
             thine
             may
             runne
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             IIII.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             ALas
             faire
             face
             ,
             why
             doth
             that
             smothed
             brow
             .
             Those
             speak-ing
             All
             in
             them selues
             ,
             confirme
             a
             scornefull
             vow
             .
             To
             spoyle
             my
             
             eies
             ,
             rosd
             lips
             ,
             and
             blush
             -
             ing
             beautie
             .
             The
             time
             hath
             bene
             ,
             when
             I
             was
             better
             hopes
             of
             loue
             ,
             my
             loue
             of
             du
             -
             tie
             .
             
             grast
             ,
             I
             now
             the
             same
             ,
             and
             yet
             that
             tyme
             is
             past
             .
             The
             tyme
             hath
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             IIII.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             ALas
             faire
             face
             ,
             why
             doth
             that
             smoothed
             brow
             .
             Those
             speak-ing
             All
             in
             them selues
             confirme
             a
             scornefull
             vow
             .
             to
             spoile
             my
             
             eies
             ,
             ros'd
             lips
             and
             blushing
             beautie
             .
             hopes
             of
             loue
             ,
             my
             loue
             of
             deutie
             .
             The
             time
             hath
             bin
             ,
             when
             I
             was
             better
             
             grast
             ,
             I
             now
             the
             same
             ,
             and
             yet
             the
             time
             is
             past
             .
             The
             time
             hath
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             IIII.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             ALas
             faire
             face
             ,
             why
             doth
             that
             smothed
             brow
             .
             Those
             speak
             -
             ing
             All
             in
             them selues
             ,
             confirme
             a
             scornfull
             vow
             .
             To
             spoile
             my
             
             eies
             ,
             rosd
             lips
             ,
             and
             blush
             -
             ing
             beautie
             .
             The
             time
             hath
             bene
             ,
             when
             I
             was
             better
             grast
             ,
             hopes
             of
             loue
             ,
             my
             loue
             of
             du
             -
             tie
             .
             
             I
             now
             the
             same
             ,
             and
             yet
             that
             time
             is
             past
             .
             The
             time
             hath
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           V.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           WHether
           so
           fast
           ,
           see
           how
           the
           kindly
           kindly
           flowres
           ,
           perfumes
           the
           aire
           ,
           and
           
           all
           to
           make
           thee
           stay
           ,
           The
           climing
           woodbind
           clipping
           al
           these
           bowrs
           ,
           clips
           thee
           like
           -
           wise
           ,
           clips
           ij
           .
           
           wise
           ,
           for
           feare
           passe
           a
           -
           way
           ,
           Fortune
           our
           friend
           ,
           our
           foe
           will
           not
           gainesay
           .
           Stay
           ,
           stay
           but
           a
           while
           ,
           stay
           ij
           .
           
           stay
           ij
           .
           
             Phoe
             -
             be
          
           no
           teltale
           is
           ,
           no
           teltale
           is
           ,
           She
           
           her
           
             En
             -
             di
             -
             mi
             -
             on
             ,
          
           I
           le
           my
           Phoebe
           kisse
           my
           Phoebe
           kisse
           .
           Stay
           ,
           stay
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Feare
             not
             ,
             the
             ground
             seekes
             but
             to
             kisse
             thy
             feete
          
           
             Harke
             ,
             harke
             how
             Philomela
             sweetly
             sings
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             water
             wanton
             fishes
             as
             they
             meete
             ,
          
           
             Strike
             crochet
             time
             amid'st
             these
             christall
             springs
             ,
          
           
             And
             Zephirus
             mongst
             the
             leaues
             sweet
             murmure
             rings
             ,
          
           
             Stay
             but
             a
             while
             ,
             Phoebe
             no
             teltale
             is
             ,
          
           
             She
             her
             Endimion
             ,
             I
             le
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
          
        
         
           
             See
             how
             the
             Helitrope
             hearbe
             of
             the
             Sunne
          
           
             Though
             he
             himselfe
             long
             since
             be
             gon
             to
             bed
             ,
          
           
             Is
             not
             of
             force
             thine
             eies
             bright
             beames
             to
             shun
             ,
          
           
             But
             with
             their
             warmth
             his
             gouldy
             leaues
             vnspred
             ,
          
           
             And
             on
             my
             knee
             inuites
             thee
             rest
             thy
             head
             .
          
           
             Stay
             but
             a
             while
             ,
             Phoebe
             to
             teltale
             is
             ,
          
           
             She
             her
             Endimion
             ,
             I
             le
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             ,
          
        
         
           
           
             V.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             WHe
             -
             ther
             so
             fast
             ,
             see
             how
             the
             kindly
             ,
             kindly
             flowers
             perfume
             the
             aire
             ,
             and
             all
             to
             make
             thee
             stay
             .
             
             The
             clymbing
             Woodbind
             clipping
             all
             these
             bowers
             ,
             clips
             thee
             likewise
             ,
             clips
             .
             ij
             .
             for
             feare
             thou
             pas
             away
             .
             
             Fortune
             our
             friend
             ,
             our
             foe
             will
             not
             gain
             -
             say
             .
             Stay
             ,
             stay
             but
             a
             while
             ,
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             Phoebe
             no
             tel
             -
             
             tale
             is
             ,
             no
             :
             ij
             .
             no
             :
             ij
             .
             She
             her
             Endimion
             ,
             I
             le
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
             Stay
             ,
             stay
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             V.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             WHe
             -
             ther
             so
             fast
             ,
             see
             how
             the
             kindly
             flowers
             perfumes
             the
             ayre
             ,
             &
             
             all
             to
             make
             thee
             stay
             :
             the
             climing
             wodbind
             clipping
             all
             these
             bowers
             ,
             clips
             
             thee
             likewise
             ,
             clips
             :
             ij
             .
             for
             feare
             thou
             passe
             away
             .
             Fortune
             our
             friend
             ,
             our
             
             foe
             wil
             not
             gaine
             say
             .
             Stay
             ,
             stay
             but
             a
             while
             ,
             stay
             :
             ij
             stay
             :
             ij
             .
             Phoebe
             
             no
             teltale
             is
             ,
             no
             :
             ij
             .
             She
             her
             Endimion
             ,
             I
             le
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
             I
             le
             my
             
             Phoebe
             kisse
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
             Stay
             ,
             stay
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             V.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             WHether
             so
             fast
             ,
             see
             how
             the
             kind
             -
             ly
             flowers
             perfumes
             the
             ayre
             ,
             and
             all
             to
             make
             thee
             stay
             ,
             
             The
             clipping
             woodbind
             ,
             clipping
             all
             these
             bowers
             ,
             clips
             thee
             likewise
             ,
             clips
             ij
             .
             for
             feare
             thou
             passe
             away
             .
             
             Fortune
             our
             friend
             ,
             our
             foe
             will
             not
             gane
             say
             .
             Stay
             ,
             stay
             but
             a
             while
             ,
             stay
             ij
             .
             stay
             ij
             .
             stay
             ij
             .
             
             Phoe-be
             no
             tel-tale
             is
             ,
             no
             ij
             .
             no
             ij
             .
             She
             her
             
               Endimi
               -
               on
            
             Ile
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             ,
             my
             Phoebe
             kisse
             .
             Say
             stay
             &c
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VI.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           REst
           sweet
           Nimphs
           let
           goulden
           sleepe
           ,
           charme
           your
           star
           brighter
           eies
           ,
           Whiles
           my
           
           Lute
           the
           watch
           doth
           keep
           with
           pleasing
           simpa
           -
           thies
           ,
           Lulla
           lulla
           -
           by
           ,
           Lulla
           Lulla-by
           ,
           sleepe
           sweetly
           ,
           
           sleep
           sweetly
           ,
           let
           nothing
           affright
           ye
           ,
           in
           calme
           con
           -
           tent
           -
           ments
           lie
           .
           Lulla
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Dreame
             faire
             virgins
             of
             delight
             ,
          
           
             And
             best
             Elizian
             groues
             :
          
           
             Whiles
             the
             wandring
             shades
             of
             night
             ,
          
           
             Resemble
             your
             true
             loues
             :
          
           
             Lulla
             lullaby
             ,
             Lulla
             lullaby
          
           
             ●●ur
             kisses
             your
             blisses
             send
             them
             by
             your
             wishes
             ,
          
           
             ●●hough
             they
             be
             not
             nigh
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             deare
             damzells
             I
             do
             giue
          
           
             Good
             night
             and
             so
             am
             gone
             :
          
           
             With
             your
             hartes
             desires
             long
             liue
          
           
             still
             ioy
             ,
             and
             neuer
             mone
             .
          
           
             Lulla
             lullaby
             ,
             Lulla
             lullaby
          
           
             Hath
             pleasd
             you
             and
             easd
             you
             ,
             &
             sweet
             slumber
             sezd
             you
             ,
          
           
             And
             now
             to
             bed
             I
             hie
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             VI.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             REst
             sweet
             Nymphes
             ,
             let
             goulden
             sleepe
             charme
             your
             star
             brigh-ter
             eyes
             ,
             whiles
             my
             Lute
             the
             
             watch
             doth
             keepe
             with
             pleasant
             simpathies
             ,
             Lulla
             lul-la
             -
             by
             ,
             lul-la-by
             ,
             lul-laby
             ,
             sleepe
             sweetly
             ,
             sleepe
             
             sweet
             -
             ly
             ,
             let
             nothing
             affright
             yee
             ,
             in
             calme
             content
             -
             ments
             lye
             .
             Lulla
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             VI.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             REst
             sweet
             Nymphes
             ,
             let
             goulden
             sleepe
             charme
             your
             star
             brighter
             eyes
             ,
             
             whiles
             my
             Lute
             the
             watch
             doth
             keepe
             ,
             with
             pleasing
             Simpathies
             .
             Lulla
             lul-laby
             ,
             
             lul-la
             -
             by
             ,
             sleepe
             sweetly
             ,
             sleepe
             sweetly
             ,
             let
             nothing
             affright
             ye
             ,
             in
             
             calme
             contentments
             lye
             .
             Lul-la
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             VI.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             REst
             sweet
             Nimphes
             let
             goulden
             sleepe
             ,
             charme
             your
             star
             brighter
             eyes
             ,
             whiles
             my
             Lute
             the
             
             watch
             dothe
             keepe
             ,
             with
             pleasing
             sim-pathies
             ,
             Lulla
             lul
             -
             laby
             ,
             lul
             -
             laby
             ,
             lul-laby
             ,
             sleepe
             sweetly
             ,
             sleepe
             
             sweetly
             ,
             let
             nothing
             affright
             ye
             ,
             in
             calme
             contentments
             lye
             .
             Lulla
             &c.
             
             
             
             
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           AYE
           mee
           ,
           she
           frownes
           ,
           my
           Mistresse
           is
           of
           -
           fen
           -
           ded
           ,
           Oh
           pardon
           
           deare
           ,
           my
           misse
           shall
           be
           a
           -
           mended
           :
           My
           fault
           from
           loue
           proceeded
           ,
           It
           merits
           grace
           
           the
           rather
           ,
           If
           I
           no
           dan
           -
           ger
           dreaded
           ,
           it
           was
           to
           win
           your
           fauour
           .
           Then
           cleere
           those
           
           clouds
           ,
           then
           smile
           on
           mee
           ,
           And
           let
           vs
           bee
           good
           friends
           .
           Come
           
           walke
           ,
           come
           talke
           ,
           come
           kisse
           ,
           come
           see
           ,
           how
           soone
           our
           quarrell
           ends
           .
           Then
           cleere
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Why
             low'rs
             my
             loue
             ,
             and
             blots
             so
             sweet
             a
             beautie
             ,
          
           
             Oh
             be
             apeasd
             with
             vowes
             ,
             with
             faith
             and
             duetie
             :
          
           
             Giue
             ouer
             to
             be
             cruell
             ,
             sith
             kindnesse
             seemes
             you
             better
             ,
          
           
             You
             haue
             but
             changd
             a
             Juell
             ,
             and
             loue
             is
             not
             your
             detter
             .
          
           
             Then
             welcome
             mirth
             ,
             and
             banish
             mone
             ,
             shew
             pittie
             on
             your
             louer
             ,
          
           
             Come
             play
             ,
             come
             sport
             ,
             the
             thing
             that
             's
             gon
             no
             sorrow
             can
             recouer
             .
          
        
         
           
             Still
             are
             you
             angry
             ,
             and
             is
             there
             no
             relenting
             ?
          
           
             Oh
             wiegh
             my
             woes
             ,
             be
             mou'd
             with
             my
             lamenting
             :
          
           
             Alas
             my
             hart
             is
             grieued
             ,
             myne
             inward
             soule
             doth
             sorrow
             ,
          
           
             Vnles
             I
             be
             releeud
             ,
             I
             dye
             before
             to
             morrow
             .
          
           
             The
             coast
             is
             cleard
             ,
             her
             countnance
             cheard
             ,
             I
             am
             againe
             in
             grace
             ,
          
           
             Then
             farewell
             feare
             ,
             then
             come
             my
             deare
             ,
             le
             ts
             dallieand
             embrace
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             VII
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             AYe
             mee
             ,
             shee
             frownes
             ,
             my
             Mistres
             is
             offended
             ,
             Oh
             pardon
             deere
             ,
             my
             misse
             shall
             be
             a-men-ded
             :
             
             my
             fault
             from
             loue
             proceeded
             ,
             it
             merits
             grace
             the
             rather
             :
             if
             I
             no
             dan-ger
             dreaded
             ,
             it
             was
             to
             win
             
             thy
             fauour
             .
             Then
             cleere
             those
             Clowds
             ,
             then
             smile
             on
             mee
             ,
             and
             let
             vs
             bee
             good
             friends
             :
             
             come
             walke
             ,
             come
             talke
             ,
             come
             kisse
             ,
             come
             see
             how
             soone
             our
             quarrell
             ends
             .
             Then
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             VII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             AY
             mee
             ,
             she
             frownes
             ,
             my
             Mistres
             is
             offended
             ,
             Oh
             
             pardon
             deare
             ,
             my
             misse
             shal
             be
             amended
             :
             my
             fault
             from
             loue
             pro
             -
             
             ceeded
             ,
             it
             merits
             grace
             the
             rather
             ,
             if
             I
             no
             danger
             dreaded
             ,
             it
             
             was
             to
             win
             thy
             fauour
             .
             Then
             cleare
             those
             clouds
             ,
             then
             simile
             on
             
             mee
             ,
             and
             let
             vs
             bee
             good
             friends
             :
             come
             walke
             ,
             come
             talke
             ,
             come
             
             kisse
             ,
             come
             see
             ,
             how
             soone
             our
             quarel
             ends
             .
             Then.
             
          
        
         
           
             VII
             .
             TENOR
             .
          
           
             
             AYe
             mee
             ,
             she
             frownes
             ,
             my
             Mistres
             is
             offended
             ,
             Oh
             pardon
             deare
             ,
             my
             misse
             shal
             be
             amended
             my
             
             fault
             from
             loue
             proceeded
             ,
             it
             merits
             grace
             the
             rather
             ,
             if
             I
             no
             danger
             dreaded
             ,
             it
             was
             to
             win
             thy
             fauour
             .
             
             Then
             cleare
             those
             Clouds
             ,
             then
             smile
             on
             mee
             ,
             &
             let
             vs
             bee
             good
             friends
             :
             come
             walke
             ,
             come
             talke
             ,
             
             come
             kisse
             ,
             come
             see
             ,
             how
             soone
             our
             quarell
             ends
             .
             Then.
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VIII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           NOw
           let
           her
           change
           and
           spare
           not
           ,
           since
           she
           proues
           false
           I
           care
           not
           ,
           Fained
           
           loue
           so
           bewitched
           my
           de
           -
           light
           ,
           That
           still
           I
           doated
           on
           her
           sight
           ,
           But
           she
           is
           gon
           ,
           but
           ij
           .
           
           but
           ij
           .
           New
           desires
           imbra-cing
           ,
           And
           my
           deserts
           dis
           -
           gracing
           .
           But
           she
           is
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             When
             did
             I
             erre
             in
             blindnesse
             ,
          
           
             Or
             vex
             her
             with
             vnkindnesse
             ,
          
           
             If
             my
             care
             did
             attend
             her
             alone
             ,
          
           
             Why
             is
             she
             thus
             vntimely
             gone
             ?
          
           
             True
             loue
             abides
             till
             the
             day
             of
             dying
             ,
          
           
             False
             loue
             is
             euer
             flying
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             false
             fare-well
             for
             euer
             ,
          
           
             Once
             false
             proue
             faithfull
             neuer
             ,
          
           
             He
             that
             now
             so
             triumphes
             in
             thy
             loue
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             soone
             my
             present
             fortunes
             proue
             .
          
           
             Were
             I
             as
             faire
             as
             diuine
             Adonis
             ,
          
           
             Loue
             is
             not
             had
             where
             none
             is
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             VIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             let
             her
             change
             and
             spare
             not
             ,
             since
             shee
             proues
             falce
             I
             care
             not
             :
             fayned
             loue
             
             so
             bee-witched
             my
             delight
             ,
             that
             still
             I
             doated
             on
             her
             sight
             .
             But
             shee
             is
             gon
             ,
             But
             :
             ij
             .
             
             But
             :
             ij
             .
             new
             desires
             imbracing
             ,
             and
             my
             deserts
             disgracing
             .
             But
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             VIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             let
             her
             change
             &
             spare
             not
             ,
             since
             she
             proues
             false
             I
             care
             not
             :
             
             fayned
             loue
             so
             bee
             witched
             my
             delight
             ,
             that
             still
             I
             doated
             on
             her
             sight
             .
             But
             she
             is
             gon
             ,
             
             but
             :
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             new
             desires
             imbracing
             ,
             and
             my
             deserts
             
             disgracing
             .
             But
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             VIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             NOw
             let
             her
             change
             &
             spare
             not
             ,
             since
             she
             proues
             false
             I
             care
             not
             :
             fained
             loue
             so
             bewitched
             
             my
             delight
             that
             still
             I
             doated
             on
             her
             sight
             .
             But
             she
             is
             gon
             ,
             but
             :
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             new
             desires
             
             imbracing
             ,
             and
             my
             deserts
             disgracing
             .
             But
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           IX
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           VN
           -
           der
           -
           neath
           a
           Cypris
           shade
           ,
           the
           Queene
           of
           Loue
           sat
           
           mourning
           ,
           Casting
           downe
           the
           Rosie
           wreaths
           ,
           Her
           heauenly
           brow
           a
           -
           dor
           -
           
           ning
           :
           Quenching
           fiery
           sighes
           with
           teares
           ,
           But
           yet
           
           her
           hart
           ,
           but
           yet
           her
           hart
           ,
           her
           hart
           still
           bur
           -
           ning
           .
           Quenching
           fi-rie
           
           sighes
           with
           teares
           ,
           but
           yet
           her
           hart
           ,
           but
           yet
           her
           hart
           ,
           her
           
           hart
           still
           bur
           -
           ning
           .
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             For
             within
             the
             shady
             mourne
             ,
             the
             cause
             of
             her
             complaining
             ,
          
           
             Mirrhas
             Sonne
             the
             leavy
             bowres
             did
             haunt
             ,
             her
             loue
             disdaining
             ,
          
           
             Counting
             all
             her
             true
             desires
             ,
             in
             his
             fond
             thoughts
             but
             faining
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Why
             is
             youth
             with
             beauty
             graft
             ,
             vnfeeleing
             Iudge
             of
             vnkindnesse
             ,
          
           
             Spotting
             loue
             with
             the
             foule
             report
             ,
             of
             crueltie
             and
             blindnesse
             ,
          
           
             Forceing
             to
             vnkind
             complaints
             ,
             the
             Queene
             of
             all
             diuinenesse
             .
          
        
         
           
             4
          
           
             Stint
             thy
             teares
             faire
             Seaborne
             Queene
             ,
             &
             greife
             in
             vaine
             lamented
             ,
          
           
             When
             desire
             hath
             burnt
             his
             hart
             ,
             that
             thee
             hath
             discontented
             ,
          
           
             Then
             to
             late
             the
             scorne
             of
             youth
             ,
             by
             age
             shall
             be
             repented
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             IX
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             VNderneth
             a
             Cypris
             shade
             ,
             the
             Queene
             of
             Loue
             sate
             mour
             -
             ning
             ,
             casting
             downe
             the
             Ro
             -
             sie
             
             wreathes
             ,
             her
             heauenly
             brow
             a-dorning
             ,
             quenching
             fi'rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             quenching
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             
             yet
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             ,
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             but
             ij
             .
             still
             bur
             -
             ning
             .
             quenching
             fi
             '
             -
             rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             
             quenching
             ij
             ,
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             .
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             still
             bur
             -
             ning
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             VNderneth
             a
             :
             The
             Queene
             of
             Loue
             sate
             mourning
             ,
             casting
             
             down
             the
             Rosie
             wreathes
             her
             heauenly
             brow
             adoring
             :
             quenching
             si'rie
             
             sighes
             ,
             fi'rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             quench
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             yet
             her
             
             hart
             ,
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             .
             quenching
             si'rie
             sighes
             ,
             
             si'rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             quench
             :
             ij
             but
             yet
             her
             
             hart
             ,
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             VNderneth
             a
             Cypris
             shade
             ,
             the
             Queene
             of
             Loue
             sate
             mourning
             ,
             casting
             downe
             the
             Rosy
             wreathes
             ,
             her
             
             heauenly
             brow
             ado
             -
             ring
             :
             quenching
             fi'rie
             ,
             fi'rie
             fi'rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             quench
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             
             yet
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             .
             but
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             :
             ij
             .
             quenching
             fi'rie
             ,
             fi'rie
             sighes
             with
             teares
             ,
             
             quench
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             yet
             her
             hart
             ,
             yet
             her
             hart
             still
             burning
             .
             but
             :
             ij
             .
             but
             :
             ij
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           For
           his
           vnfortunate
           friend
           William
           Harwood
           .
           X.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           SOund
           wo
           -
           full
           plaints
           in
           hils
           and
           woods
           ,
           Fly
           my
           cries
           ,
           to
           the
           skies
           ,
           Melt
           
           mine
           eies
           ,
           and
           hart
           lan
           -
           guish
           ,
           Not
           for
           the
           want
           of
           friends
           ,
           or
           goods
           ,
           make
           I
           
           moane
           ,
           though
           alone
           ,
           thus
           I
           groane
           ,
           by
           soules
           an
           -
           guish
           .
           Time
           ,
           friends
           ,
           chance
           ,
           goods
           ,
           might
           againe
           
           re-couer
           ,
           Black
           woes
           ,
           sad
           griefes
           ,
           ore
           my
           life
           doe
           houer
           ,
           Since
           my
           losse
           is
           with
           dispaire
           ,
           No
           
           blest
           Star
           to
           me
           shine
           faire
           ,
           All
           my
           mirth
           turne
           to
           mourning
           ,
           Hart
           lament
           ,
           for
           hope
           is
           
           gon
           :
           is
           gon
           ,
           Musick
           leaue
           ,
           I
           le
           learne
           to
           moane
           ,
           Sorrowes
           the
           sads
           a
           -
           dor
           -
           ning
           .
           Since
           my
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Aye
             mee
             my
             daies
             of
             blisse
             are
             done
             ,
          
           
             Sorrowing
             must
             I
             sing
             ,
             nothing
             can
             relieue
             mee
             :
          
           
             Eclipsed
             is
             my
             glorious
             Sunne
             ,
          
           
             And
             mischance
             doth
             aduance
             horrors
             lance
             ,
             still
             to
             greiue
             mee
             .
          
           
             Poore
             hart
             ,
             ill
             happ
             hath
             all
             ioy
             bereft
             thee
             :
          
        
         
           
             Gon's
             the
             sole
             good
             ,
             which
             the
             Fates
             had
             left
             mee
             .
          
           
             Whose
             estate
             is
             like
             to
             mine
             ?
             Fortune
             doth
             my
             weale
             repine
             ,
          
           
             Enuying
             my
             one
             pleasure
             ,
          
           
             Patience
             must
             mee
             assure
             ,
             other
             plaster
             can
             not
             cure
             .
          
           
             Therefore
             in
             this
             my
             treasure
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             For
             his
             vnfortunate
             friend
             William
             Harwood
             .
             X.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             SOund
             wofull
             plaints
             in
             hills
             &
             woods
             ,
             flie
             my
             cries
             to
             the
             Skies
             ,
             flie
             :
             ij
             .
             melt
             mine
             eies
             ,
             &
             hart
             
             languish
             ,
             not
             for
             the
             want
             of
             friends
             ,
             or
             goods
             ,
             of
             :
             ij
             .
             make
             I
             moane
             ,
             though
             a-lone
             thus
             I
             grone
             ,
             by
             souls
             an
             -
             
             guish
             :
             time
             ,
             friēds
             ,
             chāce
             ,
             goods
             might
             again
             recouer
             ,
             black
             woes
             ,
             sad
             griefs
             ore
             my
             life
             doe
             houer
             ,
             since
             my
             
             losse
             is
             with
             dispaire
             ,
             no
             blest
             Star
             to
             mee
             shine
             faire
             ,
             all
             my
             mirth
             turne
             to
             mourning
             ,
             hart
             lament
             ,
             lament
             ,
             hart
             la
             -
             
             ment
             ,
             for
             hope
             is
             gone
             ,
             Musick
             leaue
             ,
             I
             le
             leaue
             to
             moane
             ,
             sorrowes
             the
             sads
             ador
             -
             ning
             .
             Since
             my
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             For
             his
             vnfortunate
             friend
             William
             Harwood
             .
             X.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             SOund
             woefull
             plaints
             in
             hills
             and
             woods
             ,
             flie
             my
             cries
             to
             
             the
             skies
             ,
             flie
             ij
             .
             melt
             mine
             eies
             &
             hart
             languish
             ,
             not
             for
             the
             
             want
             of
             friends
             ,
             not
             for
             ii
             .
             or
             goods
             make
             I
             moane
             ,
             though
             a
             -
             
             lone
             ,
             thus
             I
             groan
             ,
             by
             soules
             ;
             an
             -
             guish
             :
             time
             ,
             frinds
             ,
             chance
             goods
             might
             
             a
             gaine
             re-couer
             ,
             black
             woes
             ,
             sad
             griefes
             ,
             ore
             my
             life
             doe
             houer
             ,
             
             since
             my
             losse
             is
             with
             disparie
             ,
             no
             blest
             Star
             to
             mee
             shine
             faire
             ,
             all
             my
             
             mirth
             turn
             to
             mourning
             ,
             hart
             la
             -
             ment
             for
             hope
             is
             gon
             ,
             Musick
             leaue
             
             I
             le
             learne
             to
             moane
             ,
             sorrowes
             the
             sads
             adorning
             .
             since
             my
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             For
             his
             vnfortunate
             friend
             William
             Harwood
             .
             X.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             SOund
             woefull
             plaints
             in
             hills
             and
             woods
             ,
             flie
             my
             cries
             to
             the
             skies
             .
             flie
             ij
             .
             melt
             mine
             eies
             and
             
             hart
             languish
             ,
             not
             for
             the
             want
             of
             frinds
             or
             goods
             ,
             of
             ij
             .
             make
             I
             moane
             ,
             though
             a-lone
             ,
             thus
             I
             grone
             ,
             by
             souls
             an
             -
             
             guish
             ,
             time
             ,
             friends
             ,
             chance
             goods
             might
             a
             -
             gaine
             reco-uer
             ,
             black
             woes
             ,
             sad
             griefes
             ,
             ore
             my
             life
             ,
             ore
             
             my
             life
             do
             houer
             ,
             since
             my
             losse
             is
             with
             dispaire
             ,
             no
             blest
             Star
             ,
             to
             mee
             shine
             faire
             ,
             all
             my
             merth
             turne
             to
             mourning
             .
             
             hart
             la
             :
             ij
             .
             hart
             ij
             .
             hart
             ij
             .
             for
             hope
             is
             gon
             ,
             Musick
             leaue
             I
             learne
             to
             moane
             ,
             sorrows
             the
             sads
             ador
             -
             ning
             since
             :
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XI
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           YOu
           that
           pine
           in
           long
           de
           -
           sire
           ,
           helpe
           to
           cry
           .
           Come
           Loue
           ,
           come
           Loue
           ,
           
           quench
           this
           bur
           -
           ning
           fire
           ,
           Least
           through
           thy
           wound
           I
           die
           .
           Least
           through
           thy
           wound
           I
           
           die
           .
           Least
           through
           thy
           wound
           I
           die
           .
           Come
           loue
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Hope
             that
             tyres
             with
             vaine
             delay
             ,
          
           
             euer
             cryes
          
           
             Come
             loue
             ,
             come
             loue
             ,
             howers
             and
             yeares
             decay
             ,
          
           
             In
             time
             loues
             treasure
             lyes
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             All
             the
             day
             ,
             and
             all
             the
             night
          
           
             still
             I
             call
          
           
             Come
             loue
             ,
             come
             loue
             ,
             but
             my
             deare
             delight
             ,
          
           
             yealds
             no
             releefe
             at
             all
             .
          
        
         
           
             4
          
           
             Her
             vnkindnesse
             scornes
             my
             moane
             ,
          
           
             that
             still
             shrykes
          
           
             Come
             loue
             ,
             come
             loue
             ,
             beauty
             pent
             alone
          
           
             dyes
             in
             her
             owne
             dislikes
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             YOu
             that
             pine
             in
             long
             desire
             ,
             helpe
             to
             cry
             .
             come
             Loue
             ,
             come
             Loue
             ,
             quench
             this
             burning
             
             fire
             ,
             burning
             fire
             ,
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             ,
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             ,
             
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             come
             loue
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             YOu
             that
             pine
             in
             long
             desire
             ,
             helpe
             to
             cry
             ,
             come
             Loue
             ,
             come
             
             Loue
             quench
             this
             burning
             fire
             ,
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             I
             die
             ,
             least
             
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             least
             ij
             .
             die
             .
             come
             Loue
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             YOu
             that
             pine
             in
             long
             desire
             ,
             helpe
             to
             crie
             ,
             come
             Loue
             ,
             quench
             this
             bur-ning
             fire
             ,
             least
             
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             ,
             least
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             least
             
             through
             thy
             wound
             I
             die
             .
             come
             Loue
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           LOoke
           Mistresse
           mine
           within
           this
           hol
           -
           low
           brest
           ,
           See
           heere
           in
           -
           closd
           a
           
           tombe
           of
           tender
           skin
           ,
           wherin
           fast
           lockt
           is
           framd
           a
           Phe-nix
           nest
           ,
           That
           saue
           your
           
           selfe
           ,
           is
           no
           passage
           in
           .
           Witnesse
           the
           woūd
           that
           through
           your
           dart
           doth
           bleed
           ,
           And
           
           craues
           your
           cure
           ,
           and
           ij
           .
           and
           ij
           .
           since
           you
           haue
           done
           the
           deed
           .
           Witnesse
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Wherefore
             most
             rare
             and
             Phenix
             rarely
             fine
             ,
          
           
             Behould
             once
             more
             the
             harmes
             I
             do
             possesse
             :
          
           
             Regard
             the
             hart
             that
             through
             your
             fault
             doth
             pine
             ,
          
           
             Attending
             rest
             yet
             findeth
             no
             redresse
             .
          
           
             For
             end
             ,
             waue
             wings
             and
             set
             your
             nest
             on
             fire
             ,
          
           
             Or
             pittie
             mee
             ,
             and
             grant
             my
             sweet
             desire
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             LOoke
             Mistresse
             mine
             ,
             within
             this
             hollow
             brest
             ,
             see
             heere
             inclos'd
             ,
             a
             tombe
             of
             tender
             skin
             ,
             wherein
             
             fast
             lockt
             is
             fram'd
             a
             Phenix
             nest
             ,
             that
             ,
             saue
             your selfe
             ,
             there
             is
             no
             passage
             in
             there
             is
             no
             passage
             in
             .
             Wit
             -
             
             nesse
             the
             wound
             ,
             that
             through
             your
             dart
             doth
             bleed
             ,
             and
             craues
             your
             care
             ,
             and
             craues
             your
             care
             ,
             since
             
             haue
             done
             the
             deed
             .
             Witnesse
             the
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             LOoke
             mistres
             mine
             within
             this
             hollow
             brest
             ,
             see
             heere
             in-closd
             a
             tombe
             
             of
             tender
             skin
             ,
             wherein
             fast
             lockt
             is
             framd
             a
             Phenix
             nest
             ,
             that
             ,
             saue
             your selfe
             ,
             there
             is
             ,
             
             there
             is
             no
             passage
             in
             .
             Witnesse
             the
             wound
             that
             through
             your
             dart
             doth
             bleede
             ,
             &
             
             craues
             your
             cure
             ,
             &
             :
             ij
             .
             &
             :
             ij
             .
             &
             :
             ij
             .
             since
             you
             haue
             done
             the
             deed
             witnesse
             .
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             LOoke
             mistres
             mine
             within
             this
             hollow
             brest
             ,
             see
             heere
             inclosd
             a
             tombe
             of
             tender
             skin
             ,
             within
             fast
             lockt
             is
             
             framd
             a
             Phe-nix
             nest
             ,
             that
             ,
             saue
             your selfe
             ,
             there
             is
             no
             passage
             in
             ,
             there
             is
             no
             passage
             in
             .
             Witnesse
             the
             wound
             
             that
             through
             your
             dart
             doth
             bleed
             ,
             and
             craues
             your
             cure
             ,
             &
             ij
             .
             &
             :
             ij
             .
             since
             you
             haue
             done
             the
             dead
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           his
           louing
           friend
           M.
           Holder
           ,
           M.
           of
           Arts.
           XIII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           CLime
           O
           hart
           ,
           clime
           to
           thy
           rest
           ,
           Climing
           yet
           take
           heed
           
           of
           falling
           ,
           Climers
           oft
           euen
           at
           their
           best
           ,
           catch
           loue
           ,
           downe
           falth
           ,
           hart
           appa-ling
           .
           Climers
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Mounting
             yet
             if
             she
             do
             call
             ,
          
           
             And
             desire
             to
             know
             thy
             arrant
             :
          
           
             Feare
             not
             stay
             ,
             and
             tell
             her
             all
             ,
          
           
             Falling
             shee
             will
             be
             thy
             warrant
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Rise
             ,
             oh
             rise
             ,
             but
             rising
             tell
             ,
          
           
             When
             her
             beautie
             brauely
             wins
             thee
             ,
          
           
             T'sore
             vp
             where
             that
             she
             doth
             dwell
             ,
          
           
             Downe
             againe
             thy
             basenesse
             brings
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
             4
          
           
             If
             she
             aske
             what
             makes
             thee
             loue
             her
             ,
          
           
             Say
             her
             vertue
             ,
             not
             her
             face
             :
          
           
             For
             though
             beauty
             doth
             approue
             her
             ,
          
           
             Mildnesse
             giues
             her
             greater
             grace
             .
          
        
         
           
             5
          
           
             Rise
             then
             rise
             if
             she
             bid
             rise
             ,
          
           
             Rising
             say
             thou
             risest
             for
             her
             :
          
           
             Fall
             if
             she
             do
             thee
             dispise
             ,
          
           
             Falling
             still
             do
             thou
             adore
             her
             .
          
        
         
           
             6
          
           
             If
             thy
             plaint
             do
             pittie
             gaine
             ,
          
           
             Loue
             and
             liue
             to
             her
             honor
             :
          
           
             If
             thy
             seruice
             she
             disdaine
             ,
          
           
             Dying
             yet
             complaine
             not
             on
             her
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             To
             his
             louing
             friend
             M.
             Holder
             M.
             of
             Arts.
             XIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             CLime
             O
             hart
             ,
             clime
             to
             thy
             rest
             ,
             Clim-ing
             yet
             take
             
             heede
             of
             sal
             -
             ling
             ,
             Climars
             oft
             euen
             at
             their
             best
             ,
             catch
             Loue
             ,
             downe
             falt'h
             
             hart
             ap-palling
             .
             Climars
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             CLyme
             O
             hart
             ,
             clyme
             to
             thy
             rest
             ,
             clyming
             yet
             take
             
             heed
             of
             fal
             -
             ling
             ,
             clymers
             oft
             euen
             at
             their
             best
             ,
             catch
             loue
             ,
             
             downe
             falth
             hart
             appalling
             .
             clymars
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             To
             his
             louing
             friend
             M.
             Holder
             M.
             of
             Arts.
             XIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             CLime
             O
             hart
             ,
             clime
             to
             thy
             rest
             ,
             Clim-ing
             yet
             take
             heede
             
             of
             falling
             ,
             Climars
             oft
             euen
             at
             their
             best
             ,
             catch
             Loue
             ,
             downe
             falt'h
             hart
             
             ap-pal-ling
             .
             Clymars
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XIIII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           THanks
           gentle
           Moone
           for
           thy
           obscured
           light
           ,
           My
           Loue
           and
           I
           be
           -
           traid
           thou
           
           set
           vs
           free
           ,
           And
           Zephirus
           as
           ma-ny
           vn
           -
           to
           thee
           ,
           Whose
           blasts
           con
           -
           ceald
           ,
           the
           pleasures
           of
           the
           night
           ,
           
           Re
           -
           solue
           to
           her
           thou
           gaue
           ,
           content
           to
           mee
           .
           But
           be
           those
           bowers
           still
           fild
           with
           Ser
           -
           pents
           hisses
           ,
           
           That
           sought
           by
           treason
           ,
           that
           ij
           .
           to
           be
           -
           tray
           our
           kis
           -
           ses
           .
           to
           betray
           our
           
           kisses
           .
           But
           be
           those
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             And
             thou
             false
             Arbor
             with
             thy
             bed
             of
             Rose
             ,
          
           
             Wherin
             ,
             wheron
             toucht
             equall
             with
             loues
             fyer
             ,
          
           
             We
             reapt
             of
             eyther
             other
             loues
             desire
             ,
          
           
             Wither
             the
             twining
             plants
             that
             thee
             enclose
             .
          
           
             Oh
             be
             thy
             bowers
             still
             fild
             with
             serpents
             hisses
             ,
          
           
             That
             sought
             by
             treason
             ,
             to
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
          
        
         
           
             Torne
             be
             the
             frame
             ,
             for
             thou
             didst
             thankles
             hide
             ,
          
           
             A
             trayterous
             spy
             ,
             her
             brother
             ,
             and
             my
             foe
             ,
          
           
             Who
             sought
             by
             death
             ,
             our
             ioyes
             to
             vnder
             goe
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             that
             death
             ,
             our
             passions
             to
             deuide
             ,
          
           
             Leauing
             to
             our
             great
             vows
             ,
             eternall
             woe
             .
          
           
             Oh
             be
             thy
             bowers
             still
             fild
             with
             serpents
             hisses
             ,
          
           
             That
             sought
             by
             treason
             ,
             to
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XIIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             THanks
             gentle
             Moone
             for
             thy
             obscured
             light
             ,
             My
             Loue
             and
             I
             betraid
             thou
             set
             vs
             free
             ,
             And
             Ze-phirus
             as
             
             many
             vn-to
             thee
             ,
             whose
             blasts
             conceald
             ,
             the
             pleasures
             of
             the
             night
             ,
             Resolue
             to
             her
             thou
             gaue
             ,
             content
             to
             
             mee
             .
             But
             be
             those
             bowers
             still
             fild
             with
             Serpents
             hisses
             ,
             That
             sought
             by
             treason
             ,
             that
             ij
             .
             to
             
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
             to
             be
             -
             tray
             our
             kisses
             .
             But
             be
             those
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XIIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             THanks
             gentle
             Moone
             for
             thy
             obscured
             light
             ,
             My
             Loue
             
             and
             I
             betrayd
             thou
             set
             vs
             free
             ,
             And
             Zephirus
             as
             many
             vnto
             thee
             ,
             Whose
             
             blasts
             conceald
             ,
             the
             pleasures
             of
             the
             night
             ,
             Resolue
             to
             her
             thou
             gaue
             ,
             
             content
             to
             mee
             .
             But
             be
             those
             bowers
             still
             fild
             with
             Serpēts
             hisses
             ,
             
             That
             sought
             by
             treason
             ,
             that
             :
             ij
             .
             to
             be
             -
             tray
             our
             kisses
             .
             
             to
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
             But
             be
             those
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XIIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             THanks
             gentle
             Moone
             for
             thy
             obscured
             light
             ,
             My
             Loue
             &
             I
             betraid
             thou
             set
             vs
             free
             ,
             And
             Zephirus
             as
             many
             
             vnto
             thee
             ,
             Whose
             blasts
             conceald
             ,
             the
             pleasures
             of
             the
             night
             ,
             Resolue
             to
             her
             thou
             gaue
             ,
             content
             to
             mee
             .
             But
             
             be
             those
             bowers
             still
             fild
             with
             Serpents
             hisses
             ,
             That
             sought
             by
             treason
             ,
             That
             :
             ij
             .
             to
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
             
             to
             betray
             our
             kisses
             .
             But
             those
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XV.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           I
           Sigh
           as
           sure
           to
           weare
           the
           fruit
           of
           the
           Wil
           -
           low
           
           tree
           ,
           I
           sigh
           as
           sure
           to
           lose
           my
           sute
           ,
           for
           it
           may
           not
           bee
           .
           
           I
           sigh
           as
           one
           that
           loues
           in
           vaine
           ,
           I
           sigh
           as
           one
           that
           liues
           
           in
           paine
           ,
           very
           sorie
           ,
           ij
           .
           ij
           .
           very
           weary
           of
           my
           
           mi
           -
           se
           -
           rie
           .
           I
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             I
             hate
             my
             thoughts
             which
             like
             the
             Flie
             ,
             flutter
             in
             the
             flame
             ,
          
           
             I
             hate
             my
             teares
             which
             drop
             ,
             and
             dry
             ,
             quench
             and
             fri●
             the
             same
             :
          
           
             I
             hate
             the
             hart
             which
             frozen
             burnes
             ,
             I
             hate
             the
             hart
             which
             chosen
             turnes
             ,
          
           
             Too
             and
             from
             mee
             ,
             making
             of
             mee
             nothing
             but
             a
             game
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             My
             thoughts
             are
             fuell
             to
             desire
             ,
             which
             my
             hart
             doth
             moue
             ,
          
           
             My
             teares
             are
             oyle
             to
             feed
             the
             fire
             ,
             smart
             whereof
             I
             proue
             :
          
           
             She
             laughes
             at
             sighes
             that
             come
             from
             mee
             ,
             I
             sigh
             at
             laughes
             in
             her
             so
             free
             ,
          
           
             Who
             doth
             glory
             ,
             in
             the
             storie
             of
             my
             sorie
             loue
             .
          
        
         
           
             4
          
           
             Her
             louely
             lookes
             ,
             and
             louelesse
             mind
             doe
             not
             well
             agree
             ,
          
           
             Her
             quick
             conceipt
             ,
             and
             iudgement
             blind
             ,
             as
             ill
             suted
             bee
             :
          
           
             Her
             forward
             wit
             ,
             and
             froward
             hart
             ,
             that
             like
             to
             knit
             ,
             this
             glad
             to
             part
             ,
          
           
             Makes
             so
             prettie
             ,
             and
             so
             wittie
             ,
             not
             to
             pittie
             mee
             .
          
        
         
           
             5
          
           
             The
             more
             I
             seeke
             ,
             the
             lesse
             I
             find
             what
             to
             trust
             vnto
             ,
          
           
             The
             more
             I
             hold
             ,
             the
             lesse
             I
             bind
             ,
             she
             doth
             still
             vndoe
             :
          
           
             I
             weaue
             the
             web
             of
             idle
             loue
             ,
             which
             endles
             will
             ,
             and
             frutles
             proue
             ,
          
           
             If
             the
             pleasure
             for
             the
             measure
             of
             my
             treasure
             goe
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XV.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             I
             Sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             weare
             the
             fruit
             of
             the
             willow
             tree
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             lose
             my
             sute
             ,
             my
             sute
             ,
             for
             
             it
             will
             not
             bee
             ,
             for
             it
             will
             not
             bee
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             loues
             in
             vaine
             ,
             that
             loues
             in
             vaine
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             
             liues
             in
             paine
             ,
             very
             sory
             ,
             ve
             :
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             very
             weary
             of
             my
             misery
             .
             I
             sigh
             as
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             I
             Sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             weare
             the
             fruit
             ,
             of
             the
             willow
             tree
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             sure
             ,
             
             I
             sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             loose
             my
             sute
             ,
             for
             it
             will
             not
             bee
             .
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             loues
             in
             vaine
             ,
             
             loues
             in
             vaine
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             liues
             in
             paine
             ,
             ve-ry
             so-ry
             ve-ry
             ij
             .
             
             ve-ry
             so-ry
             ,
             ve-ry
             weary
             of
             my
             mi-se-rie
             .
             I
             sigh
             &
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             TENORE
          
           
             
             I
             Sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             weare
             the
             fruit
             ,
             the
             fruit
             of
             the
             willow
             tree
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             sure
             to
             loose
             my
             sute
             ,
             for
             it
             
             will
             not
             bee
             ,
             for
             it
             will
             not
             be
             .
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             loues
             in
             vaine
             ,
             I
             sigh
             as
             one
             that
             liues
             in
             paine
             :
             
             very
             so-ry
             ,
             very
             :
             ij
             .
             very
             sory
             very
             wery
             of
             my
             mi
             -
             se
             -
             ry
             .
             I
             sigh
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           Chorus
           .
           XVI
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           DOwn
           a
           down
           ,
           ij
           .
           Thus
           Phillis
           sung
           ,
           by
           Fan
           -
           cie
           once
           op-pres
           -
           sed
           ,
           Who
           so
           by
           foolish
           Loue
           are
           
           stong
           ,
           Are
           worthe-ly
           distres
           -
           sed
           ,
           and
           so
           sing
           I
           ,
           and
           ij
           .
           with
           a
           down
           ,
           ij
           .
           ij
           .
           
           with
           a
           down
           a
           down
           a
           down
           .
        
         
           
           1
           Verse
           .
           WHen
           Loue
           was
           first
           be
           -
           got
           ,
           and
           
           by
           the
           mothers
           will
           ,
           Did
           fall
           to
           humane
           ,
           lot
           ,
           his
           solace
           to
           ful
           -
           fill
           ,
           Deuoid
           of
           all
           de
           -
           ceit
           ,
           a
           
           chast
           and
           ho-ly
           fire
           ,
           Did
           quicken
           mans
           con
           -
           ceit
           ,
           and
           womens
           brest
           in
           -
           spire
           .
           The
           Gods
           that
           saw
           the
           
           good
           ,
           that
           mortals
           did
           ap
           -
           proue
           ,
           With
           kinde
           and
           holy
           moode
           ,
           began
           to
           talke
           of
           loue
           .
           
           Chorus
           .
           Downe
           a
           downe
           .
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             But
             during
             this
             accord
             ,
             a
             wonder
             strange
             to
             heare
          
           
             Whilst
             loue
             in
             deed
             and
             word
             ,
             most
             faihfull
             did
             appeare
             :
          
           
             False
             semblance
             came
             in
             place
             ,
             by
             selocie
             attended
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             double
             face
             ,
             both
             loue
             and
             fancie
             blended
             ,
          
           
             Which
             made
             the
             gods
             forsake
             ,
             and
             men
             from
             fancie
             flie
             ,
          
           
             And
             maidens
             scorne
             a
             mate
             ,
             forsooth
             and
             so
             will
             I.
             
          
        
         
           Chorus
           .
           Downe
           a
           downe
           .
           &c.
           
        
         
           
           
             Chorus
             .
             XVI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             DOwne
             a
             &c.
             
             
             And
             so
             sing
             I
             ,
             and
             ij
             .
             with
             a
             downe
             ,
             with
             ij
             .
             with
             a
             downe
             downe
             with
             a
             ij
             .
             a
             downe
             a
             downe
             .
             
             verses
             .
             When
             Loue
             :
             &c.
             
          
           
             Chorus
             .
             Downe
             a
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Chorus
             .
             XVI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             DOwne
             a
             :
             &c.
             
             
             &
             so
             sing
             I
             with
             a
             downe
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             ij
             .
             with
             a
             downe
             a
             downe
             a
             downe
             .
             
             Verses
             .
             When
             Loue
             :
             &c.
             
             
             Chorus
             .
             Downe
             a
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Chorus
             .
             XVI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             DOwne
             a
             &c.
             
             
             And
             so
             sing
             I
             ,
             with
             a
             downe
             ,
             ij
             .
             with
             a
             downe
             a
             ,
             with
             a
             downe
             a
             downe
             a
             downe
             downe
             .
             
             Verses
             .
             When
             Loue
             :
             &c.
             
             
             Chorus
             .
             Downe
             a
             :
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XVII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           DI-a-phe-ni-a
           like
           the
           Dafdown
           -
           dillie
           ,
           White
           as
           the
           Sunne
           ,
           faire
           as
           the
           
           Lillie
           ,
           Heigh
           ho
           ,
           heigh
           ho
           ,
           how
           I
           doe
           loue
           thee
           :
           I
           doe
           loue
           thee
           as
           my
           Lambs
           ,
           Are
           be-lo
           -
           ued
           of
           
           their
           dumbs
           ,
           How
           blest
           were
           I
           if
           thou
           wouldst
           proue
           mee
           .
           I
           doe
           :
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Diaphenia
             like
             the
             spreading
             Roses
             ,
          
           
             That
             in
             thy
             sweetes
             ,
             all
             sweetes
             incloses
             ,
          
           
             Faire
             sweete
             how
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             ?
          
           
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             as
             each
             flower
             ,
          
           
             Loues
             the
             Sunnes
             life
             giuing
             power
             ,
          
           
             For
             dead
             ,
             thy
             breath
             to
             life
             might
             moue
             mee
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Diaphenia
             like
             to
             all
             things
             blessed
             ,
          
           
             When
             all
             thy
             praises
             are
             expressed
             ,
          
           
             Deare
             ioy
             ,
             how
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             ?
          
           
             As
             the
             birds
             doe
             loue
             the
             spring
             ,
          
           
             Or
             the
             Bees
             their
             carefull
             king
             ,
          
           
             Then
             in
             requite
             ,
             sweete
             virgin
             loue
             mee
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XVII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             D
             
               I
               -
               a
               -
               phe-nia
            
             like
             the
             Dafdown
             -
             dil-lie
             ,
             white
             as
             the
             Sunne
             ,
             faire
             as
             the
             Lillie
             ,
             Heigh
             ho
             ,
             
             heigh
             ho
             ,
             how
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             ,
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             as
             my
             Lambs
             ,
             are
             beloued
             of
             their
             dambs
             ;
             how
             blest
             were
             I
             if
             
             thou
             wouldst
             proue
             mee
             .
             I
             doe
             ;
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XVII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             D
             I-a-phe-ni-a
             like
             the
             Dafdown
             -
             dillie
             ,
             white
             as
             the
             Sunne
             faire
             
             as
             the
             Lillie
             ,
             Heigh
             ho
             ,
             high
             ho
             ,
             how
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             ,
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             as
             my
             Lambs
             ,
             
             are
             beloued
             of
             their
             dambs
             ,
             how
             blest
             were
             I
             if
             thou
             wouldst
             proue
             mee
             .
             I
             doe
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XVII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             D
             I-aphe-ni-a
             like
             the
             daf
             -
             down
             -
             dillie
             ,
             white
             as
             the
             Sunne
             ,
             faire
             as
             the
             Lillie
             ,
             Heigh
             ho
             ,
             
             heigh
             ho
             ,
             how
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             :
             I
             doe
             loue
             thee
             as
             my
             Lambes
             ,
             are
             beloued
             of
             their
             dambs
             ,
             how
             blest
             
             were
             I
             if
             thou
             wouldst
             proue
             mee
             .
             I
             doe
             loue
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XVIII
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           BEautie
           sat
           bathing
           by
           a
           spring
           ,
           Where
           fairest
           shades
           did
           hide
           her
           :
           The
           
           winds
           blew
           calme
           ,
           the
           birds
           did
           sing
           ,
           The
           coole
           streames
           ranne
           be
           -
           side
           her
           .
           
           My
           wanton
           thoughts
           entic'd
           mine
           eie
           ,
           To
           see
           what
           was
           for
           -
           bidden
           :
           But
           better
           memory
           said
           fie
           ,
           So
           
           vaine
           de
           -
           sire
           was
           chidden
           .
           Hey
           no
           -
           ny
           ,
           hey
           no
           -
           
           ny
           ,
           hey
           ij
           .
           hey
           nony
           no
           nony
           nony
           .
           Hey
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           
             Into
             a
             slumber
             then
             I
             fell
             ,
          
           
             When
             fond
             imagination
             ,
          
           
             Seemed
             to
             see
             ,
             but
             could
             not
             tell
             ,
          
           
             Her
             feature
             ,
             or
             her
             fashion
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             euen
             as
             Babes
             in
             dreames
             doe
             smile
             ,
          
           
             And
             sometime
             fall
             a-weeping
             :
          
           
             So
             I
             a-wakt
             as
             wise
             this
             while
             ,
          
           
             As
             when
             I
             feel
             a
             sleeping
             .
          
           
             Hey
             nonnie
             ,
             nonnie
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
           
             XVIII
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             BEau-tie
             sate
             bathing
             by
             a
             spring
             ,
             wher
             fairest
             shades
             did
             hide
             her
             :
             The
             winds
             blew
             calme
             ,
             the
             
             Birds
             did
             sing
             ,
             The
             coole
             streames
             ranne
             beeside
             her
             .
             My
             wanton
             thoughts
             entic'd
             mine
             eie
             ,
             mine
             
             eye
             ,
             To
             see
             what
             was
             forbidden
             :
             But
             better
             memory
             said
             fie
             ,
             so
             vaine
             desire
             was
             chidden
             .
             Hey
             nony
             
             nonie
             ,
             hey
             :
             ij
             .
             hey
             ,
             ij
             .
             nonie
             ,
             nonie
             ,
             hey
             :
             ij
             .
             Hey
             nonie
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XVIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             BEautie
             sat
             bathing
             by
             a
             spring
             ,
             Where
             fairest
             shades
             
             did
             hide
             her
             :
             The
             windes
             blew
             calme
             ,
             the
             Birds
             did
             sing
             ,
             The
             coole
             
             streames
             ranne
             beside
             her
             ,
             bee-side
             her
             .
             My
             wanton
             thoughts
             en
             -
             
             tic'd
             mine
             eye
             ,
             To
             see
             what
             was
             forbidden
             :
             But
             better
             memory
             said
             
             fie
             ,
             So
             vaine
             desire
             was
             chidden
             .
             Hey
             nonie
             nonie
             ,
             hey
             :
             ij
             .
             
             nonie
             ,
             hey
             ij
             .
             hey
             :
             ij
             .
             hey
             :
             ij
             .
             hey
             
             no
             -
             nie
             .
             Hey
             nonnie
             .
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XVIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             BEautie
             sat
             bathing
             by
             a
             spring
             ,
             Where
             fairest
             shades
             did
             hide
             her
             :
             The
             winds
             blew
             calme
             ,
             the
             
             birds
             did
             sing
             ,
             The
             coole
             streames
             ranne
             beside
             her
             ,
             beside
             her
             .
             My
             wanton
             thoughts
             entic'd
             ,
             entic'd
             
             mine
             eie
             ,
             To
             see
             what
             was
             forbidden
             :
             But
             better
             me-mory
             said
             fie
             ,
             So
             vaine
             desire
             was
             chidden
             .
             Hey
             
             nony
             ,
             ij
             .
             hey
             ij
             .
             hey
             ij
             .
             nony
             .
             Hey
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XIX
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           MVsick
           deare
           sollace
           ,
           to
           my
           thoughts
           neg
           -
           lected
           ,
           Musick
           time
           sporter
           ,
           
           Musick
           time
           sporter
           ,
           to
           my
           most
           res
           -
           pec
           -
           ted
           ,
           Sound
           on
           ,
           sound
           on
           ,
           thy
           gol
           -
           den
           
           harmony
           is
           such
           ,
           That
           whilst
           she
           doth
           vouchsafe
           her
           E-bon
           Lute
           to
           tuch
           .
           By
           descant
           
           numbers
           I
           doe
           nimbly
           clime
           ,
           from
           Loues
           se
           -
           cluse
           ,
           Vnto
           his
           Courts
           ,
           vn-to
           his
           Courts
           wher
           I
           in
           
           fresh
           attire
           ,
           at
           -
           tire
           my
           Muse
           .
           By
           descant
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             I
             doe
             compare
             her
             fingers
             swift
             resounding
             ,
          
           
             Vnto
             the
             heauens
             Sphaericall
             rebounding
             :
          
           
             Harke
             ,
             harke
             ,
             she
             sings
             no
             forst
             ,
             but
             breathing
             sound
             I
             heare
             ,
          
           
             And
             such
             the
             concord
             Diapasons
             shee
             doth
             reare
             ,
          
           
             As
             when
             th'
             immortall
             god
             of
             nature
             from
             his
             seate
             aboue
             ,
          
           
             First
             formd
             words
             all
             ,
             &
             fairely
             it
             combind
             ,
             combind
             by
             loue
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Diuine
             Appollo
             bee
             not
             thou
             offended
             ,
          
           
             That
             by
             her
             better
             skill
             thy
             skils
             amended
             ,
          
           
             Schollers
             doe
             oft
             more
             lore
             ,
             then
             maisters
             theirs
             attaine
             ,
          
           
             Though
             thine
             the
             groūd
             ,
             all
             parts
             in
             one
             though
             she
             contain
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             maist
             thou
             triumph
             that
             thou
             hast
             a
             Scholler
             onely
             one
             ,
          
           
             That
             can
             her
             Lute
             to
             thine
             ,
             and
             to
             thy
             voice
             ,
             her
             voice
             attone
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XIX
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             MVsicke
             deere
             selace
             to
             my
             thoughts
             neg-lected
             ,
             Musicke
             time
             sporter
             ij
             .
             to
             my
             most
             
             res-pected
             ,
             Sound
             on
             ,
             sound
             on
             ,
             thy
             golden
             harmony
             is
             such
             ,
             That
             whilst
             shee
             doth
             vouchsafe
             her
             
             Ebon
             Lute
             to
             tuch
             ,
             By
             descant
             numbers
             I
             doe
             nim-bly
             clime
             ,
             from
             loues
             secluse
             ,
             vnto
             his
             Courts
             ,
             vnto
             
             his
             Courts
             ,
             where
             I
             in
             fresh
             attire
             at
             -
             tire
             my
             Muse
             .
             By
             descant
             numbers
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XIX
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             MV-sick
             deere
             sollace
             ,
             to
             my
             thoughts
             neglected
             ,
             Musick
             
             time
             sporter
             ,
             Musick
             time
             sporter
             ,
             to
             my
             most
             respected
             ,
             
             Sound
             on
             ,
             sound
             on
             thy
             goulden
             harmony
             is
             such
             ,
             That
             whilst
             
             shee
             doth
             ,
             shee
             doth
             vouchsafe
             hre
             Ebon
             Lute
             to
             tuch
             .
             By
             descant
             
             numbers
             I
             doe
             nimbly
             clime
             ,
             from
             Loues
             secluse
             ,
             Vnto
             his
             courts
             vnto
             
             his
             Courts
             ,
             where
             I
             in
             fresh
             attire
             ,
             at
             -
             tire
             my
             
             Muse
             .
             By
             descant
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XIX
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             MVsick
             deare
             solace
             to
             my
             thoughts
             neglected
             ,
             Musick
             time
             sporter
             ,
             Musick
             time
             sporter
             ,
             to
             my
             
             most
             respected
             :
             Sound
             on
             ,
             sound
             on
             ,
             thy
             golden
             harmony
             is
             such
             ,
             That
             whilst
             she
             doth
             ,
             she
             doth
             vouch
             -
             
             safe
             her
             Ebon
             Lute
             to
             tuch
             .
             By
             descant
             numbers
             I
             doe
             nimbly
             clime
             ,
             from
             Loues
             secluse
             ,
             vnto
             
             his
             Courts
             ,
             vnto
             his
             Courts
             ,
             where
             I
             in
             fresh
             attire
             at
             -
             tire
             my
             Muse
             .
             By
             descant
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XX.
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           WIth
           fragrant
           flowers
           we
           strew
           the
           way
           ,
           And
           make
           this
           our
           chiefe
           
           ho
           -
           ly
           day
           ,
           For
           though
           this
           Clime
           were
           blest
           of
           yore
           ,
           Yet
           was
           it
           
           ne-uer
           proud
           before
           :
           O
           gracious
           King
           ,
           O
           ij
           .
           O
           ij
           .
           O
           ij
           :
           
           of
           second
           Troy
           ,
           Ac
           -
           cept
           of
           our
           vn
           -
           fai
           -
           ned
           ioy
           .
           O
           ,
           &c
           
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             Now
             th'
             Aire
             is
             sweeter
             then
             sweet
             Balme
             ,
          
           
             And
             Satires
             daunce
             about
             the
             Palme
             :
          
           
             Now
             earth
             with
             verdure
             newly
             dight
             ,
          
           
             Giues
             perfect
             signes
             of
             her
             delight
             .
          
           
             O
             gracious
             King
             of
             second
             Troy
             ,
          
           
             Accept
             of
             our
             vnfained
             ioy
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             Birds
             record
             new
             harmonie
             ,
          
           
             And
             trees
             doe
             whistle
             melodie
             :
          
           
             Now
             euery
             thing
             that
             Nature
             breeds
          
           
             Doth
             clad
             it selfe
             in
             pleasant
             weeds
             .
          
           
             O
             gracious
             King
             of
             second
             Troy
             ,
          
           
             Accept
             of
             our
             vnfained
             ioy
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XX.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             WIth
             fragrant
             flowers
             we
             strew
             the
             way
             ,
             And
             make
             this
             our
             chiefe
             ho-ly
             day
             ,
             
             For
             though
             this
             Clime
             were
             blest
             of
             yore
             ,
             Yet
             was
             it
             ne-uer
             proud
             before
             :
             O
             gra
             -
             cious
             King
             ,
             
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             of
             second
             Troy
             ,
             Accept
             of
             our
             vnfai-ned
             ioy
             .
             O
             ,
             &c
          
        
         
           
             XX.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             WIth
             fragrant
             flowers
             we
             strew
             the
             way
             ,
             And
             make
             this
             our
             chiefe
             
             holy
             day
             ,
             For
             though
             this
             Clime
             were
             blest
             of
             yore
             ,
             yet
             was
             it
             ne
             -
             uer
             proud
             be
             -
             
             fore
             :
             O
             gratious
             King
             ,
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             
             of
             second
             Troy
             ,
             Ac-cept
             of
             our
             vnfained
             ioy
             .
             O
             gratious
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             XX.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             WIth
             fragrant
             flowers
             we
             strew
             the
             way
             ,
             And
             make
             this
             our
             chiefe
             ho-ly
             day
             ,
             For
             
             though
             this
             Clime
             were
             blest
             of
             yore
             ,
             Yet
             was
             it
             neuer
             proud
             before
             :
             O
             gratious
             King
             ,
             O
             ij
             .
             
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             O
             ij
             .
             of
             second
             Troy
             ,
             Accept
             of
             our
             vn-fained
             ioy
             .
             O
             gratious
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           An
           Elegie
           in
           remembrance
           of
           his
           Worshipfull
           friend
           Thomas
           Leighton
           Esquier
           .
           XXI
           .
           CANTO
           .
        
         
           
           COme
           come
           all
           you
           that
           draw
           heauens
           pu
           -
           rest
           breath
           ,
           Come
           
           An
           -
           gell
           brested
           sonnes
           of
           har
           -
           mo
           -
           nie
           .
           Let
           vs
           candole
           in
           tragicke
           E
           -
           li
           -
           
           gie
           ,
           Con
           -
           dole
           with
           me
           our
           deerest
           Leightons
           death
           ,
           Leighton
           in
           whose
           deere
           losse
           death
           belmish
           -
           eth
           
           Iones
           beau-tie
           and
           the
           soule
           of
           true
           de
           -
           light
           ,
           Leighton
           heauens
           fauorite
           and
           the
           
           Muses
           Iewell
           ,
           Muses
           and
           heauens
           onely
           heere
           -
           in
           too
           cruell
           ,
           Leighton
           to
           hea
           -
           uen
           ,
           Leighton
           
           to
           heauen
           ,
           hath
           tane
           too
           time
           -
           ly
           flight
           .
           Leighton
           to
           ,
           &c.
           
           
        
         
           
             Come
             then
             sith
             Seas
             of
             teares
             ,
             sith
             sighes
             and
             grones
             ,
          
           
             Sith
             mournefull
             plaints
             ,
             lowd
             cries
             ,
             and
             deepe
             laments
             ,
          
           
             Haue
             all
             in
             vaine
             deplord
             these
             drerements
             ,
          
           
             And
             fate
             in-explorable
             scornes
             our
             mones
             ,
          
           
             Let
             vs
             in
             accents
             graue
             ,
             and
             saddest
             tones
             ,
          
        
         
           
             Offer
             vp
             Musicks
             dolefull
             sacrifice
             :
          
           
             Let
             these
             accords
             which
             notes
             distinguist
             frame
             ,
          
           
             Serue
             for
             memoriall
             to
             sweet
             Leightons
             name
             ,
          
           
             In
             whose
             sad
             death
             Musicks
             delight
             now
             dies
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             An
             Eiegie
             ,
             in
             remembrance
             of
             his
             Worshipfull
             friend
             ,
             Thomas
             Leighton
             Esquire
             .
             XXI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             
             COme
             come
             all
             you
             that
             draw
             ,
             Heauens
             pu
             -
             rest
             breath
             ,
             Come
             Angell
             brested
             sonnes
             ,
             come
             ij
             .
             
             of
             har
             -
             mo
             -
             ny
             ,
             Let
             vs
             condole
             in
             tragicke
             E
             -
             li
             -
             gie
             ,
             con-dole
             with
             mee
             our
             deerest
             Leightons
             death
             ,
             
             Leighton
             in
             whose
             deere
             losse
             death
             blemisheth
             ,
             Iones
             beautie
             and
             the
             soule
             ,
             the
             soule
             of
             true
             delight
             ,
             Leighton
             
             heauens
             fauoret
             and
             the
             Muses
             Iew-ell
             ,
             Muses
             and
             heauens
             onely
             here-in
             too
             cru-ell
             ,
             Leighton
             to
             heauen
             ,
             to
             
             heauen
             ,
             Leighton
             to
             heauen
             ,
             hath
             tane
             too
             timely
             flight
             .
             Leighton
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             An
             Elegie
             &c.
             XXI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             come
             all
             you
             that
             draw
             heauens
             purest
             
             breath
             ,
             Come
             Angell
             brested
             sonnes
             of
             harmony
             ,
             Let
             vs
             con
             -
             
             dole
             .
             tragick
             Eligie
             ,
             Condole
             with
             mee
             our
             deerest
             Leightons
             
             death
             Leighton
             in
             whose
             deere
             losse
             death
             ble
             -
             misheth
             Iones
             
             beawtie
             and
             the
             soule
             of
             true
             de-light
             ,
             Leighton
             heauens
             
             fauorite
             and
             the
             Mu-ses
             Iewell
             ,
             Muses
             and
             heauens
             onely
             
             herein
             too
             cruell
             ,
             Leighton
             to
             heauen
             ,
             Leigh
             :
             ij
             .
             to
             heauen
             
             hath
             tane
             too
             timely
             flight
             .
             Leighton
             to
             heauen
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             An
             Elegie
             ,
             in
             remembrance
             of
             his
             Worshipfull
             friend
             ,
             Thomas
             Leighton
             Esquier
             .
             XXI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             come
             all
             you
             that
             draw
             heauens
             purest
             breath
             ,
             Come
             Angell
             brested
             sonnes
             ,
             come
             ij
             .
             
             of
             harmo-ny
             ,
             Let
             vs
             condole
             in
             tragick
             Eligie
             ,
             Condole
             with
             mee
             our
             dearest
             Leightons
             death
             ,
             Leighton
             
             in
             whose
             deere
             losse
             death
             blemisheth
             Iones
             beautie
             ,
             and
             the
             soule
             of
             true
             delight
             ,
             Leighton
             heauens
             fauorite
             and
             
             the
             Muses
             Iewell
             ,
             Muses
             and
             heauens
             only
             heerein
             too
             cruell
             ,
             Leighton
             to
             heauen
             ,
             to
             ij
             to
             heauen
             
             hath
             tane
             too
             timely
             flight
             .
             Leighton
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XXII
           .
           BASSO
           .
        
         
           
           A
           Pauin
           .
           2
           
        
         
           
             A
             Pauin
             for
             the
             Lute
             and
             Base
             Violl
             .
             XXII
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
           
        
      
    
     
  

