







 
   
     
       
         The second booke of songs or ayres, of 2. 4. and 5. parts vvith tableture for the lute or orpherian, with the violl de gamba. Composed by Iohn Dovvland Batcheler of Musick, and lutenist to the King of Denmark: also an excelent lesson for the lute and base viol, called Dowlands adew. Published by George Eastland, and are to be sould at his house neere the greene Dragon and Sword, in Fleetstreete.
         Songs or ayres, 2nd book
         Dowland, John, 1563?-1626.
      
       
         
           1600
        
      
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         99842401
         7051
         
           
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             The second booke of songs or ayres, of 2. 4. and 5. parts vvith tableture for the lute or orpherian, with the violl de gamba. Composed by Iohn Dovvland Batcheler of Musick, and lutenist to the King of Denmark: also an excelent lesson for the lute and base viol, called Dowlands adew. Published by George Eastland, and are to be sould at his house neere the greene Dragon and Sword, in Fleetstreete.
             Songs or ayres, 2nd book
             Dowland, John, 1563?-1626.
          
           [50] p. : music
           
             Printed by Thomas Este, the assigne of Thomas Morley,
             London :
             1600.
          
           
             Signatures: A-N² (-N2).
             Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Songs with lute -- Early works to 1800.
           Part-songs, English -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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           Psal.
           150.
           
        
         
           
           Praise
           GOD
           vpon
           
           the
           Lute
           and
           Vi
           -
           oll
           .
        
         
           THE
           SECOND
           BOOKE
           of
           Songs
           or
           Ayres
           ,
           of
           2.
           4.
           and
           5.
           parts
           :
           With
           Tableture
           for
           the
           Lute
           or
           Orpherian
           ,
           with
           the
           Violl
           
             de
             Gamba
          
           .
        
         
           Composed
           by
           
             IOHN
             DOVVLAND
          
           Batcheler
           of
           Musick
           ,
           and
           Lutenist
           to
           the
           King
           of
           Denmark
           :
           Also
           an
           excelent
           lesson
           for
           the
           Lute
           and
           Base
           Viol
           ,
           called
           
             Dowlands
             adew
          
           .
        
         
           Published
           by
           George
           Eastland
           ,
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sould
           at
           his
           house
           neere
           the
           greene
           Dragon
           and
           Sword
           ,
           in
           Fleetstreete
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           :
           Printed
           by
           Thomas
           Este
           ,
           the
           assigne
           of
           Thomas
           Morley
           .
           1600.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           RIGHT
           Honorable
           the
           Lady
           Lucie
           Comptesse
           of
           BEDFORD
           .
        
         
           EXcellent
           Ladie
           :
           I
           send
           vnto
           your
           La
           :
           from
           the
           Court
           of
           a
           forreine
           Prince
           ,
           this
           volume
           of
           my
           second
           labours
           :
           as
           to
           the
           worthiest
           Patronesse
           ,
           of
           Musicke
           :
           which
           is
           the
           Noblest
           of
           all
           Sciences
           :
           for
           the
           whole
           frame
           of
           Nature
           ,
           is
           nothing
           but
           Harmonie
           ,
           as
           wel
           in
           soules
           ,
           as
           bodies
           :
           And
           because
           I
           am
           now
           remoued
           from
           your
           sight
           ,
           I
           will
           speake
           boldly
           ,
           that
           your
           La
           :
           shall
           be
           vnthankfull
           to
           Nature
           hir selfe
           ,
           if
           you
           doe
           not
           loue
           ,
           &
           defend
           that
           Art
           ,
           by
           which
           ,
           she
           hath
           giuen
           you
           so
           well
           tuned
           a
           minde
           .
        
         
           Your
           Ladiship
           hath
           in
           your selfe
           ,
           an
           excellent
           agreement
           of
           many
           vertues
           ,
           of
           which
           :
           though
           I
           admire
           all
           ,
           Yet
           I
           am
           bound
           by
           my
           profession
           ,
           to
           giue
           especiall
           honor
           ,
           to
           your
           knowledge
           of
           Musicke
           :
           which
           in
           the
           iudgement
           of
           ancient
           times
           ,
           was
           so
           proper
           an
           excelencie
           to
           Woemen
           ,
           that
           the
           Muses
           tooke
           their
           name
           from
           it
           ,
           and
           yet
           so
           rare
           ,
           that
           the
           world
           durst
           imagin
           but
           nine
           of
           them
           .
        
         
           I
           most
           humby
           beseech
           your
           La
           :
           to
           receiue
           this
           worke
           ,
           into
           your
           fauour
           :
           and
           the
           rather
           ,
           because
           it
           commeth
           far
           to
           begit
           ,
           of
           you
           .
           From
           Helsingnoure
           in
           Denmarke
           the
           first
           of
           Iune
           .
        
         
           1600.
           
        
         
           Your
           Ladiships
        
         
           in
           all
           humble
           deuotion
           :
        
         
           
             Iohn
             Dowland
          
           .
        
         
           A.
           ij
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           To
           the
           right
           Noble
           and
           Vertuous
           Ladie
           ,
           Lucie
           Comptesse
           of
           BEDFORD
           .
        
         
           
             G.
             Eastland
             .
             To
             I.
             Dowlands
             Lute
             .
          
        
         
           
             
             LVte
             arise
             and
             charme
             the
             aire
             ,
          
           
             
             Vntill
             a
             thousand
             formes
             shee
             beare
             ,
          
           
             
             Coniure
             them
             all
             that
             they
             repaire
             ,
          
           
             
             Into
             the
             circles
             of
             hir
             eare
             ,
          
           
             
             Euer
             to
             dwell
             in
             concord
             there
             ,
          
        
         
           
             
             By
             this
             thy
             tunes
             may
             haue
             accesse
             ,
          
           
             
             Euen
             to
             hir
             spirit
             whose
             flowring
             treasure
             ,
          
           
             
             Doth
             sweetest
             Harmonie
             expresse
             ,
          
           
             
             Filling
             all
             eares
             and
             hearts
             with
             pleasure
          
           
             
             On
             earth
             ,
             obseruing
             heauenly
             measure
             ,
          
           
             
             Right
             well
             can
             shee
             Judge
             and
             defend
             them
             ,
          
           
             
             Doubt
             not
             of
             that
             for
             shee
             can
             mend
             them
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           To
           the
           curteous
           Reader
           .
        
         
           GEntlemen
           ,
           if
           the
           consideration
           of
           mine
           owne
           estate
           ,
           or
           the
           true
           worth
           of
           mony
           ,
           had
           preuailed
           with
           me
           ,
           aboue
           the
           desire
           of
           pleasuring
           you
           ,
           and
           shewing
           my
           loue
           to
           my
           friend
           ,
           this
           second
           labours
           of
           Maister
           Dowland
           ,
           (
           whose
           very
           name
           is
           a
           large
           preface
           of
           commendacions
           to
           the
           booke
           ,
           )
           had
           for
           euer
           laine
           hid
           in
           darknesse
           ,
           or
           at
           the
           least
           frozen
           in
           a
           colde
           and
           forreine
           country
           .
           I
           assure
           you
           that
           both
           my
           charge
           and
           paines
           in
           publishing
           it
           ,
           hath
           exceeded
           ordinary
           ,
           yet
           thus
           much
           I
           haue
           to
           assure
           mee
           of
           requitall
           ,
           that
           neither
           the
           work
           is
           ordinary
           nor
           are
           your
           iudgements
           ordinary
           to
           whom
           I
           present
           it
           ,
           so
           that
           I
           haue
           no
           reason
           but
           to
           hope
           sor
           good
           increase
           in
           my
           labours
           ,
           especially
           of
           your
           good
           fauours
           toward
           mee
           ,
           which
           of
           all
           things
           I
           most
           esteeme
           .
           Which
           if
           I
           finde
           in
           this
           ,
           I
           meane
           shortly
           (
           God
           willing
           )
           to
           set
           at
           liberty
           for
           your
           seruice
           ,
           a
           prisoner
           taken
           at
           Cales
           ,
           who
           if
           hee
           discouers
           not
           something
           (
           in
           matter
           of
           Musicke
           )
           worthy
           your
           knowledge
           ,
           let
           the
           reputation
           of
           my
           iudgement
           in
           Musicke
           aunswere
           it
           .
           In
           the
           meane
           time
           ,
           I
           commend
           my
           absent
           friend
           to
           your
           remembrance
           ,
           and
           my selfe
           to
           your
           fauorable
           conceits
           .
        
         
           George
           Eastland
           .
        
         
           From
           my
           house
           neere
           the
           greene
           Dragon
           and
           sword
           in
           Fleetstreet
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           A
           TABLE
           OF
           ALL
           the
           Songs
           contained
           in
           this
           BOOKE
           .
        
         
           
             Songs
             to
             two
             voices
             .
          
           
             I
             saw
             my
             Lady
             weepe
             :
             I
          
           
             Flow
             my
             teares
             fall
             from
             your
             springs
             :
             II
          
           
             Sorow
             sorow
             stay
             ,
             lend
             true
             repentant
             teares
             :
             III
          
           
             Dye
             not
             before
             thy
             day
             :
             IIII
          
           
             Mourne
             ,
             mourne
             ,
             day
             is
             with
             darknesse
             fled
             :
             V
          
           
             Tymes
             eldest
             sonne
             ,
             old
             age
             the
             heire
             of
             ease
             :
             First
             part
             .
             VI
          
           
             Then
             sit
             thee
             downe
             ,
             &
             say
             thy
             
               Nunc
               demittis
            
             :
             Second
             part
             .
             VII
          
           
             When
             others
             sings
             
               Venite
               exultemus
            
             :
             Third
             part
             .
             VIII
          
        
         
           
             Songs
             to
             4.
             voices
             .
          
           
             Praise
             blindnesse
             eies
             ,
             for
             seeing
             is
             deceipt
             :
             IX
          
           
             O
             sweet
             woods
             ,
             the
             delight
             of
             solitarienesse
             :
             X
          
           
             If
             fluds
             of
             teares
             could
             clense
             my
             follies
             past
             :
             XI
          
           
             Fine
             knacks
             for
             Ladies
             ,
             cheap
             ,
             choise
             ,
             braue
             and
             new
             :
             XII
          
           
             Now
             cease
             my
             wandring
             eyes
             :
             XIII
          
           
             Come
             ye
             heauie
             states
             of
             night
             :
             XIIII
          
           
             White
             as
             Lillies
             was
             hir
             face
             :
             XV
          
           
             Wofull
             heart
             with
             griefe
             opressed
             :
             XVI
          
           
             A
             Sheperd
             in
             a
             shade
             his
             plaining
             made
             :
             XVII
          
           
             Faction
             that
             euer
             dwells
             in
             court
             :
             XVIII
          
           
             Shall
             I
             sue
             ,
             shall
             I
             seeke
             for
             grace
             :
             XIX
          
           
             Finding
             in
             fields
             my
             Siluia
             all
             alone
             :
             XX
          
        
         
           
             Songs
             to
             5.
             voices
             .
          
           
             Cleare
             or
             Cloudie
             sweet
             as
             Aprill
             showring
             :
             XXI
          
           
             Humor
             say
             what
             makst
             thou
             heere
             :
             XXII
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           I.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             most
             famous
             ,
             Anthony
             Holborne
             .
          
           
             
             I
             Saw
             my
             La
             -
             
             dy
             weepe
             ,
             and
             sor
             -
             row
             proud
             to
             bee
             ad-uan-ced
             so
             :
             
             in
             those
             faire
             eies
             ,
             ij
             .
             where
             all
             perfections
             keepe
             ,
             hir
             face
             was
             full
             of
             woe
             ,
             
             full
             ofwoe
             ,
             but
             such
             a
             woe
             (
             beleeue
             me
             )
             as
             wins
             more
             hearts
             ,
             then
             mirth
             can
             doe
             ,
             with
             hir
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             in
             ty
             -
             sing
             parts
             .
             
          
           
             
               Sorow
               was
               there
               made
               faire
               ,
            
             
               And
               passion
               wise
               ,
               eares
               a
               delightfull
               thing
               ,
            
             
               Silence
               beyond
               all
               speech
               a
               wisdome
               rare
               ,
            
             
               Shee
               made
               hir
               sighes
               to
               sing
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               things
               with
               so
               sweet
               a
               sadnesse
               moue
               ,
            
             
               As
               made
               my
               heart
               at
               once
               both
               grieue
               and
               loue
               .
            
          
           
             
               O
               fayrer
               then
               ought
               ells
               ,
            
             
               The
               world
               can
               shew
               ,
               leaue
               of
               in
               time
               to
               grieue
               ,
            
             
               Inough
               ,
               mough
               ,
               your
               ioyfull
               lookes
               excells
               ,
            
             
               Teares
               kills
               the
               heart
               belieue
               ,
            
             
               O
               striue
               not
               to
               bee
               excellent
               in
               woe
               ,
            
             
               Which
               onely
               breeds
               your
               beauties
               ouerthrow
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             I.
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             most
             famous
             ,
             Anthony
             Holborne
             .
          
           
             
             I
             saw
             my
             Lady
             weep
             ,
             ii
             .
             ij
             .
             
             ij
             .
             and
             sorrovv
             proud
             ,
             to
             bee
             aduanced
             
             so
             ,
             in
             those
             fayer
             eyes
             ,
             ij
             .
             vvher
             all
             perfections
             keep
             :
             Hir
             face
             vvas
             full
             full
             of
             
             vvoe
             ,
             But
             such
             a
             vvoe
             ,
             as
             vvinnes
             more
             hearts
             ,
             Then
             mirth
             can
             doe
             ,
             vvith
             hir
             intising
             parts
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           II.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             Lacrime
             :
          
           
             
          
           
             
               FLow
               my
               teares
            
             fall
             from
             your
             springs
             ,
             Exilde
             for
             e
             -
             uer
             :
             Let
             mee
          
           
             Downe
             vaine
             lights
             shine
             you
             no
             more
             ,
             No
             nights
             are
             dark
             e
             -
             nough
             for
          
           
             
          
           
             morne
             where
             nights
             black
             bird
             hir
             sad
             infamy
             sings
             ,
             there
             let
             mee
             liue
             for
             -
             lorne
             .
          
           
             those
             that
             in
             dis
             -
             paire
             their
             last
             fortuns
             deplore
             ,
             light
             doth
             but
             shame
             dis
             -
             close
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             Neuer
             may
             my
             woes
             be
             re
             -
             lieued
             ,
             since
             pit
             -
             tie
             is
             fled
             ,
             and
             teares
             ,
             and
             sighes
             ,
             and
             grones
          
           
             Frō
             the
             highest
             spire
             of
             con
             -
             tentment
             ,
             my
             for
             -
             tune
             is
             throwne
             ,
             and
             feare
             ,
             and
             griefe
             ,
             and
             paine
          
           
             
          
           
             my
             wearie
             dayes
             ,
             ij
             .
             of
             all
             ioyes
             here
             de
             -
             pri
             -
             ued
             .
          
           
             for
             my
             de
             -
             serts
             ,
             ij
             .
             are
             my
             hopes
             since
             hope
             is
             gone
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             Harke
             you
             shadowes
             that
             in
             darcknesse
             dwell
             ,
             learne
             to
             contemne
             light
             ,
             Happie
             ,
             happie
             they
             ☞
          
           
             
          
           
             ☞
          
           
           
             
             ☞
             that
             in
             hell
             feele
             not
             the
             worlds
             des
             -
             pite
             .
             
             ☞
          
        
         
           
             II.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             LACRIME
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             FLow
             teares
             from
             your
             springs
             ,
             Ex
             -
             I
             ld
             for
             e
             -
             uer
             let
             me
             mourne
             :
             wher
          
           
             Down
             lights
             shine
             no
             more
             ,
             no
             night
             is
             dark
             enough
             for
             those
             :
             that
          
           
             
          
           
             nights
             black
             bird
             hir
             sad
             in
             -
             fa
             -
             my
             sings
             ,
             ther
             let
             me
             liue
             forlorne
             .
          
           
             in
             dis
             -
             pair
             their
             fortunes
             de-plore
             ,
             light
             doth
             but
             shame
             disclose
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             Ne
             -
             uer
             may
             my
             vvoes
             ,
             my
             vvoes
             ,
             be
             re
             -
             lie
             -
             ued
             ,
             since
             pitt'is
             fled
             :
             and
             teares
             ,
             and
          
           
             From
             the
             high-est
             spire
             ,
             high'st
             spire
             of
             contentment
             ,
             my
             fortunes
             throwne
             ,
             and
             feare
             ,
             and
          
           
             
          
           
             sighes
             ,
             and
             grones
             ,
             my
             vvea-ry
             dayes
             ,
             ij
             .
             all
             ioyes
             haue
             depriued
             .
             Harke
             that
             in
          
           
             griefe
             ,
             and
             paine
             ,
             for
             my
             de
             -
             serts
             ,
             ij
             .
             are
             hopes
             ,
             hope
             is
             gone
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             darkenesse
             dwel
             ,
             learne
             to
             contemne
             light
             ,
             Happy
             :
             ij
             .
             they
             that
             in
             hell
             feele
             not
             the
             worlds
             despite
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           III.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             SOrrow
             sorrowstay
             ,
             lend
             true
             repentant
             teares
             ,
             
             to
             a
             woefull
             ,
             ij
             .
             wretch-ed
             wight
             ,
             hence
             ,
             ij
             .
             dis
             -
             paire
             with
             thy
             tor
             -
             
             menting
             feares
             :
             doe
             not
             ,
             O
             doe
             not
             my
             heart
             poore
             heart
             affright
             ,
             pitty
             ,
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             
             ij
             ,
             ij
             ,
             ij
             ,
             help
             now
             or
             neuer
             ,
             mark
             me
             not
             to
             endlesse
             paine
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             a
             -
             las
             I
             am
             cōdempne'd
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             am
             condempned
             e-uer
             ,
             nohope
             ,
             no
             
             help
             ,
             ther
             doth
             re
             -
             maine
             ,
             but
             downe
             ,
             down
             ,
             down
             ,
             down
             I
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             downe
             ☞
             
             ☞
          
           
           
             
             ☞
             and
             a-rise
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             ne
             -
             uer
             shall
             ,
             but
             downe
             ,
             downe
             ,
             downe
             
             ☞
             
             downe
             ,
             I
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             downe
             and
             a
             -
             rise
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             I
             ne
             -
             uer
             shall
             .
             
          
        
         
           
             III.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             SOrrow
             sorrow
             stay
             ,
             lend
             true
             repentant
             teares
             ,
             lend
             true
             repentant
             repentant
             teares
             ,
             
             to
             a
             woefull
             wofull
             wretched
             wight
             :
             Hence
             hence
             dispaire
             ,
             with
             thy
             tormenting
             feares
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             Oh
             do
             not
             my
             poore
             hart
             my
             poore
             hart
             affright
             :
             Pittie
             pittie
             help
             now
             or
             neuer
             ,
             marke
             mee
             
             not
             to
             endlesse
             paine
             ,
             ij
             .
             alasse
             I
             am
             condemned
             ,
             condemned
             euer
             :
             ij
             .
             
             I
             am
             condem'd
             euer
             ,
             no
             hope
             no
             help
             ther
             doth
             remaine
             ,
             but
             downe
             d.
             d.
             d.
             d.
             I
             fall
             ,
             but
             
             downe
             d.
             d.
             d.
             d.
             d.
             I
             fall
             ,
             downe
             &
             arise
             ,
             downe
             and
             a
             -
             rise
             ,
             a
             -
             rise
             I
             never
             shall
             ,
             but
             downe
             d.
             
             
             d.
             d.
             d.
             I
             fall
             ,
             but
             downe
             d.
             d.
             d.
             d.
             d.
             I
             fall
             ,
             downe
             &
             arise
             ,
             downe
             &
             a
             -
             rise
             ,
             a
             -
             rise
             ,
             arise
             ,
             
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             I.
             neuer
             shall
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           IIII.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             DYe
             not
             bee
             -
             fore
             thy
             day
             ,
             poore
             poore
             man
             condemned
             ,
             
             But
             life
             thy
             low
             lookes
             ,
             ij
             .
             from
             the
             humble
             earth
             ,
             Kisse
             not
             dispaire
             &
             see
             sweet
             
             hope
             con
             -
             temned
             :
             The
             hag
             hath
             no
             delight
             ,
             but
             mone
             but
             mone
             for
             mirth
             ,
             O
             
             fye
             poore
             fond
             ▪
             ling
             ,
             ij
             .
             fie
             fie
             be
             willing
             ,
             to
             pre
             -
             
             serue
             thy self
             from
             killing
             :
             Hope
             thy
             keeper
             glad
             to
             free
             thee
             ,
             Bids
             thee
             goe
             and
             will
             not
             see
             thee
             ,
             ☞
             
             ☞
          
           
           
             
             ☞
             hye
             thee
             quickly
             from
             thy
             wrong
             ,
             so
             shee
             endes
             hir
             willing
             song
             .
             
             ☞
          
        
         
           
             IIII.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             DYe
             not
             before
             thy
             day
             poore
             man
             condén'd
             ,
             but
             lift
             thy
             low
             looks
             
             ij
             .
             thy
             lookes
             from
             t'humble
             earth
             ,
             kisse
             not
             dispaire
             &
             
             see
             sweet
             hope
             cótemned
             :
             The
             hag
             hath
             no
             delight
             but
             mone
             but
             mone
             for
             mirth
             ,
             O
             fye
             O
             fye
             
             fye
             poore
             fondling
             fye
             fye
             be
             vvilling
             ,
             to
             preserue
             thy selfe
             frō
             killing
             ,
             Hope
             hope
             thy
             keeper
             is
             
             glad
             for
             to
             free
             thee
             ,
             and
             bids
             thee
             goe
             and
             vvill
             not
             see
             thee
             ,
             hye
             thee
             quickly
             from
             thy
             wrong
             ,
             
             so
             shee
             endes
             hir
             vvilling
             song
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           V
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             MOurne
             ,
             mourne
             ,
             day
             is
             with
             darknesse
             fled
             ,
             what
             heauen
             then
             go-uernes
             earth
             ,
             
             ô
             none
             ,
             but
             hell
             in
             heauens
             stead
             ,
             choaks
             with
             his
             mistes
             our
             mirth
             .
             Mourne
             
             mourne
             ,
             looke
             now
             for
             no
             more
             day
             nor
             night
             ,
             but
             that
             from
             hell
             ,
             Then
             all
             must
             as
             they
             
             may
             in
             darkenesse
             learne
             to
             dwell
             .
             But
             yet
             this
             change
             ,
             must
             needes
             change
             our
             delight
             ,
             that
             
             thus
             the
             Sunne
             ,
             ij
             .
             the
             Sun
             should
             harbour
             with
             the
             night
             .
             
          
        
         
           
           
             V.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             MOurne
             daies
             with
             darknesse
             fled
             ,
             What
             heauen
             then
             gouernes
             earth
             ,
             O
             
             none
             but
             hell
             in
             heauens
             stead
             ,
             Chokes
             with
             his
             mists
             our
             mirth
             .
             Mourne
             
             looke
             now
             for
             no
             more
             day
             ,
             nor
             night
             but
             that
             from
             hell
             ,
             Then
             all
             must
             as
             they
             may
             ,
             
             In
             darknesse
             learne
             to
             dwell
             ,
             But
             yet
             this
             change
             ,
             this
             change
             ,
             must
             change
             must
             change
             delight
             ,
             
             That
             thus
             the
             Sunne
             should
             harbour
             with
             the
             night
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VI.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             TImes
             eldest
             sonne
             ,
             olde
             age
             the
             heyre
             of
             ease
             ,
             Strēgths
             foe
             ,
             loues
             woe
             ,
             and
             foster
             
             to
             deuotion
             ,
             bids
             gallant
             youths
             in
             marshall
             prowes
             please
             ,
             as
             for
             himselfe
             ,
             hee
             hath
             no
             earth-ly
             
             motion
             ,
             But
             thinks
             sighes
             ,
             teares
             ,
             vowes
             ,
             praiers
             ,
             and
             sa
             -
             cri-fi-ces
             ,
             As
             good
             as
             showes
             ,
             maskes
             ,
             iustes
             ,
             or
             
             tilt
             de
             -
             ui-ses
             .
             But
             thinckes
             .
             
          
        
         
           
           
             ¶
             First
             part
             .
             VI.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             TImes
             eldest
             sonne
             olde
             age
             olde
             age
             the
             heire
             of
             ease
             ,
             strengthes
             
             foe
             ,
             loues
             woe
             and
             foster
             to
             deuotion
             :
             Bids
             gallant
             youthes
             in
             martial
             
             prowes
             please
             ,
             as
             for
             him
             selse
             he
             hath
             no
             earthly
             motion
             ,
             but
             thincks
             but
             thincks
             sighes
             
             teares
             ,
             vowes
             ,
             prayers
             ,
             and
             sacrifices
             ,
             as
             good
             as
             shewes
             ,
             masks
             ,
             Iusts
             ,
             or
             Tilt
             deuises
             .
             But
             thincks
             :
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             Second
             part
             .
          
           
             
             THen
             sit
             thee
             downe
             ,
             and
             say
             thy
             
               Nune
               Demittis
            
             ,
             with
             
             
               De
               profundis
               ,
               Credo
            
             ,
             and
             
               Te
               Deum
            
             ,
             Chant
             Mise-re-re
             for
             what
             now
             so
             fit
             is
             ,
             as
             that
             ,
             
             or
             this
             ,
             
               Para-tum
               est
               cor
               meum
            
             ,
             O
             that
             thy
             Saint
             would
             take
             in
             worth
             thy
             hart
             ,
             
             thou
             canst
             not
             please
             hir
             with
             a
             better
             part
             .
             O
             that
             thy
             
          
        
         
           
           
             VII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             Second
             part
             .
          
           
             
             THen
             sit
             thee
             downe
             and
             say
             thy
             
               Nunc
               de-mittis
            
             vvith
             
               De
               profundis
            
             ,
             
             Credo
             ,
             and
             
               Te
               deum
            
             ,
             chant
             Mi-serere
             ,
             for
             vvhat
             novv
             so
             fit
             is
             ,
             as
             that
             
             or
             this
             ,
             
               Paratum
               est
               cor
               meum
            
             ,
             O
             that
             thy
             Saint
             vvould
             take
             in
             vvorth
             thy
             heart
             ,
             thou
             canst
             
             not
             please
             hir
             vvith
             a
             better
             part
             .
             O
             that
             thy
          
        
      
       
         
         
           VIII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             Third
             part
             .
          
           
             
             WHen
             others
             sings
             
               Venite
               exultemus
            
             ,
             stand
             by
             
             and
             turne
             to
             
               Noli
               emulari
            
             ,
             For
             
               quare
               fremu
               -
               e-runt
            
             vse
             
               oremus
               Viuat
            
             
             
               E
               -
               li-za
               ,
               Vi
               -
               uat
               E
               -
               li
               -
               za
               ,
            
             Foran
             
               aue
               mari
            
             ,
             and
             teach
             those
             swains
             that
             
             liues
             about
             thy
             cell
             ,
             to
             say
             
               A
               -
               men
               A
               -
               men
            
             when
             thou
             dost
             pray
             so
             well
             .
             
          
           
             Heere
             endeth
             the
             Songs
             of
             two
             parts
             ,
          
        
         
           
           
             VIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             Third
             part
             .
          
           
             
             WHen
             others
             sings
             
               Venite
               venite
               exul
               -
               temus
            
             ,
             stand
             by
             and
             turne
             to
             noli
             
             to
             
               noli
               emu-lari
            
             ,
             for
             
               quare
               fremuerunt
            
             vse
             
               Oremus
               ,
               Vi
               -
               uat
               E
               -
               li
               -
               za
               ,
               Vi
               -
            
             
             
               uat
               E
               -
               li
               -
               za
            
             for
             an
             
               Aue
               Mari
            
             ,
             and
             teach
             those
             swaines
             that
             liues
             a
             -
             bout
             thy
             cell
             :
             to
             sing
             
             
               A
               -
               men
               A
               -
               men
               ,
            
             vvhen
             thou
             doest
             pray
             so
             vvell
             .
          
           
             Heere
             endeth
             the
             songs
             of
             two
             parts
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           IX
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             PRaise
             blindnesseeies
             ,
             for
             see
             -
             ing
             is
             deceit
             ,
             Bee
             dumbe
             vaine
             tongue
             ,
             words
             are
             but
             
             flattering
             windes
             ,
             breake
             hart
             &
             bleed
             for
             ther
             is
             no
             re-ceit
             ,
             to
             purge
             in-constancy
             from
             most
             mens
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             mindes
             .
             And
             so
             I
             wackt
             amazd
             and
             could
             not
             moue
             ,
             I
             know
             my
             dreame
             was
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             true
             ,
             and
             yet
             I
             loue
             .
             
          
           
             
               And
               if
               thine
               eares
               false
               Haralds
               to
               thy
               hart
               ,
            
             
               Conuey
               into
               thy
               head
               hopes
               to
               obtaine
               ,
            
             
               Then
               tell
               thy
               hearing
               thou
               art
               deafe
               by
               art
               ,
            
             
               Now
               loue
               is
               art
               that
               wonted
               to
               be
               plaine
               ,
            
             
               Now
               none
               is
               bald
               except
               they
               see
               his
               braines
               ,
            
             
               Affection
               is
               not
               knowne
               till
               one
               be
               dead
               ,
            
             
               Reward
               for
               loue
               are
               labours
               for
               his
               paines
               ,
            
             
               Loues
               quiuer
               made
               of
               gold
               his
               shafts
               of
               leade
               .
            
             
               And
               so
               I
               wackt
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
           
             IX
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             PRaise
             blindnesse
             eyes
             ,
             for
             seeing
             is
             deceit
             ,
             be
             dumbe
             vaine
             tonge
             ,
             words
             are
             but
             flattering
             windes
             ,
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             breake
             hart
             &
             bleed
             ,
             for
             there
             is
             no
             receit
             ,
             to
             purge
             inconstancy
             ,
             from
             most
             mens
             mindes
             .
             And
             
             so
             I
             wackt
             amazed
             and
             could
             not
             moue
             ,
             I
             know
             my
             dreame
             was
             true
             and
             yet
             I
             loue
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             PRaise
             blindnesse
             eyes
             for
             seeing
             is
             deceit
             ,
             be
             dumbe
             vaine
             
             tonge
             words
             are
             but
             flattering
             wyndes
             ,
             break
             hart
             and
             bleed
             for
             there
             is
             no
             receit
             ,
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             to
             purge
             inconstancie
             from
             most
             mens
             myndes
             .
             And
             so
             I
             wackt
             a
             -
             
             maz'd
             and
             could
             not
             moue
             ,
             I
             know
             my
             dreame
             was
             true
             ,
             and
             yet
             I
             loue
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             PRaise
             blindnesse
             eyes
             for
             seeing
             is
             deceit
             ,
             be
             dumbe
             vaine
             tonge
             ,
             words
             are
             but
             flattering
             windes
             ,
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             breake
             hart
             &
             bleed
             ,
             for
             ther
             is
             no
             receit
             ,
             to
             purge
             inconstancy
             frō
             most
             mens
             mindes
             .
             And
             
             so
             I
             wackt
             amazd
             and
             could
             not
             moue
             ,
             I
             know
             my
             dreame
             my
             dreame
             was
             true
             and
             yet
             I
             loue
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           X.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             To
             Maister
             Hugh
             Holland
             .
          
           
             
             O
             Sweet
             woods
             the
             de
             -
             light
             of
             so
             -
             li
             -
             ta
             -
             ri
             -
             nesse
             ,
             O
             how
             
             much
             doe
             I
             loue
             your
             so
             -
             li
             -
             ta
             -
             ri
             -
             resse
             .
             From
             fames
             desire
             ,
             from
             loues
             delight
             retir'd
             ,
             In
             these
             sad
             
             groues
             an
             Hermits
             life
             I
             led
             ,
             And
             those
             false
             pleasures
             which
             I
             once
             ad
             -
             
             mir'd
             ,
             With
             sad
             re
             -
             mem-brance
             of
             my
             fall
             ,
             ij
             I
             diead
             ,
             To
             birds
             ,
             to
             trees
             ,
             to
             earth
             ,
             im
             -
             
             part
             I
             this
             ,
             For
             shee
             lesse
             se
             -
             cret
             ,
             and
             as
             sence
             -
             lesse
             is
             .
             
          
           
             
               Experience
               which
               repentance
               onely
               brings
               ,
            
             
               Doth
               bid
               mee
               now
               my
               hart
               from
               loue
               estrange
               ,
            
             
               Loue
               is
               disdained
               when
               it
               doth
               looke
               at
               Kings
               ,
            
             
               And
               loue
               loe
               placed
               base
               and
               apt
               to
               change
               :
            
             
               Ther
               power
               doth
               rake
               from
               him
               his
               liberty
               ,
            
             
               Hir
               want
               of
               worth
               makes
               him
               in
               cradell
               die
               .
            
             
               O
               sweet
               woods
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               O
               how
               much
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               You
               men
               that
               giue
               false
               worship
               vnto
               Loue
               ,
            
             
               And
               seeke
               that
               which
               you
               neuer
               shall
               obtaine
               ,
            
             
               The
               endlesse
               worke
               of
               Sisiphus
               you
               procure
               ,
            
             
               Whole
               end
               is
               this
               to
               know
               you
               striue
               in
               vaine
               ,
            
             
               Hope
               and
               desire
               which
               now
               your
               Idols
               bee
               ,
            
             
               You
               needs
               must
               loose
               and
               feele
               dispaire
               with
               mee
               .
            
             
               O
               sweet
               woods
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               O
               how
               much
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               You
               woods
               in
               you
               the
               fairest
               Nimphs
               haue
               walked
               ,
            
             
               Nimphes
               at
               whose
               sight
               all
               harts
               did
               yeeld
               to
               Loue
               ,
            
             
               You
               woods
               in
               whom
               deere
               louers
               oft
               haue
               talked
               ,
            
             
               How
               doe
               you
               now
               a
               place
               of
               mourning
               proue
               ,
            
             
               Wansted
               my
               Mistres
               saith
               this
               is
               the
               doome
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               art
               loues
               Childbed
               ,
               Nursery
               ,
               and
               Tombe
               .
            
             
               O
               sweet
               woods
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               O
               how
               much
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
           
             X.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             O
             Sweet
             woods
             sweet
             woods
             the
             delight
             of
             Solitarinesse
             ,
             O
             how
             much
             doe
             I
             loue
             your
             
             solitarinesse
             .
             From
             fames
             desire
             ,
             from
             loues
             delight
             retyrde
             ,
             in
             these
             sad
             groues
             an
             Hermits
             lyfe
             
             I
             led
             ,
             I
             led
             ,
             and
             those
             ,
             ij
             .
             false
             pleasures
             which
             I
             once
             admir'd
             ,
             with
             fad
             remembrance
             of
             my
             
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             dread
             ,
             to
             birds
             ,
             to
             trees
             ,
             to
             earth
             ,
             ij
             .
             impart
             I
             this
             ,
             for
             she
             lesse
             secret
             &
             as
             sēceles
             is
             .
          
        
         
           
             X.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             To
             Maister
             Hugh
             Holland
             .
          
           
             
             O
             How
             much
             doe
             I
             loue
             your
             so
             -
             li
             -
             ta-rinesse
             .
             
             From
             fames
             desire
             ,
             from
             loues
             delight
             retirde
             ,
             In
             those
             sad
             groues
             an
             
             Hermits
             life
             I
             led
             ,
             I
             led
             ,
             And
             these
             false
             pleasures
             which
             I
             
             once
             admirde
             ,
             With
             sad
             remembrance
             of
             my
             fall
             ,
             ij
             I
             dread
             ,
             to
             
             birds
             ,
             to
             trees
             ,
             to
             earth
             ,
             ij
             .
             impart
             I
             this
             ,
             For
             she
             lesse
             secret
             and
             
             as
             sencelesse
             is
             .
          
        
         
           
             X.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             O
             Sweet
             woods
             the
             delight
             of
             solitarinesse
             ,
             O
             how
             much
             doe
             I
             loue
             your
             solitari
             -
             nesse
             .
             
             From
             Fames
             desire
             ,
             from
             loues
             delight
             retyrde
             ,
             in
             these
             sad
             groues
             an
             Hermits
             lyfe
             I
             led
             ,
             I
             led
             ,
             
             and
             those
             false
             pleasures
             which
             I
             once
             admyr'd
             ,
             with
             sad
             remembrance
             of
             my
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             dread
             ,
             to
             
             birds
             ,
             to
             trees
             ,
             to
             earth
             ,
             ij
             .
             impart
             I
             this
             ,
             for
             shee
             lesse
             secret
             and
             as
             sencelesse
             sencelesse
             is
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XI
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             IF
             fluds
             of
             teares
             could
             cleanse
             my
             follies
             past
             ,
             And
             smoakes
             of
             sighes
             might
             sa
             -
             
             cri
             -
             fice
             for
             sinne
             ,
             If
             groning
             cries
             might
             salue
             my
             fault
             at
             last
             ,
             Or
             endles
             mone
             ,
             for
             
             error
             pardon
             win
             ,
             Then
             would
             I
             cry
             ,
             weepe
             ,
             sigh
             ,
             and
             euer
             mone
             ,
             mine
             er
             -
             
             rors
             ,
             fault
             ,
             sins
             ,
             follies
             past
             and
             gone
             .
             
          
           
             
               I
               see
               my
               hopes
               must
               wither
               in
               their
               bud
               ,
            
             
               I
               see
               my
               fauours
               are
               no
               lasting
               flowers
               ,
            
             
               I
               see
               that
               woords
               will
               breede
               no
               better
               good
               ,
            
             
               Then
               losse
               of
               time
               and
               lightening
               but
               at
               houres
               ,
            
             
               Thus
               when
               I
               see
               then
               thus
               I
               say
               therefore
               ,
            
             
               That
               fauours
               hopes
               and
               words
               ,
               can
               blinde
               no
               more
               ▪
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             IF
             fluds
             of
             teares
             could
             clense
             my
             follies
             past
             ,
             and
             smoakes
             of
             sighes
             might
             sacrifice
             for
             sinne
             ,
             If
             
             groning
             cries
             might
             salue
             my
             falt
             at
             last
             ,
             or
             endlesse
             mone
             for
             error
             pardon
             winne
             ,
             Then
             would
             I
             crye
             ,
             weep
             ,
             
             sigh
             and
             euer
             mone
             ,
             myne
             errors
             fault
             ,
             errors
             fault
             ,
             sinnes
             follies
             past
             and
             gone
             .
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             IF
             fluds
             of
             teares
             could
             clense
             my
             follies
             past
             ,
             &
             smoaks
             of
             sighes
             might
             
             sacrifice
             for
             sinne
             ,
             if
             groning
             cries
             might
             salue
             my
             fault
             at
             last
             ,
             or
             endlesse
             mone
             for
             
             error
             pardon
             winne
             ,
             Then
             would
             I
             crye
             ,
             weep
             ,
             sigh
             and
             euer
             mone
             ,
             myne
             
             errors
             ij
             .
             faults
             ,
             sinnes
             follies
             past
             and
             gone
             .
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             IF
             fluds
             of
             teares
             could
             elense
             my
             follies
             past
             ,
             And
             smoakes
             of
             sighes
             might
             sacrifice
             for
             sinne
             ,
             If
             
             groning
             cries
             might
             salue
             my
             fault
             at
             last
             ,
             Or
             endles
             mone
             for
             error
             pardon
             win
             ,
             Then
             would
             I
             cry
             ,
             weepe
             ,
             
             sigh
             ,
             and
             euer
             mone
             ,
             Mine
             errors
             ,
             ij
             .
             faults
             ,
             sins
             ,
             sins
             ,
             follies
             past
             and
             gone
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             FIne
             knacks
             for
             ladies
             ,
             cheape
             choise
             braue
             and
             new
             ,
             Good
             penniworths
             but
             
             mony
             can-not
             moue
             ,
             I
             keepe
             a
             faier
             but
             for
             the
             faier
             to
             view
             ,
             a
             begger
             may
             bee
             liberall
             of
             
             loue
             ,
             Though
             all
             my
             wares
             bee
             trash
             the
             hart
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             hart
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             hart
             
             is
             ,
             true
             .
             
          
           
             
               Great
               gifts
               are
               guiles
               and
               looke
               for
               gifts
               againe
               ,
            
             
               My
               trifles
               come
               ,
               as
               treasures
               from
               my
               minde
               ,
            
             
               It
               is
               a
               precious
               Iewell
               to
               bee
               plaine
               ,
            
             
               Sometimes
               in
               shell
               th'orienst
               pearles
               we
               finde
               ,
            
             
               Of
               others
               take
               a
               sheafe
               ,
               of
               mee
               a
               graine
               ,
            
             
               Of
               mee
               a
               graine
               ,
            
             
               Of
               mee
               a
               graine
               .
            
          
           
             
               Within
               this
               packe
               pinnes
               points
               laces
               &
               gloues
               ,
            
             
               And
               diuers
               toies
               fitting
               a
               country
               faier
               ,
            
             
               But
               my
               hart
               where
               duety
               serues
               and
               loues
               ,
            
             
               Turtels
               &
               twins
               ,
               courts
               brood
               ,
               a
               heauenly
               paier
               ,
            
             
               Happy
               the
               hart
               that
               thincks
               of
               no-remoues
               ,
            
             
               Of
               no
               remoues
               ,
            
             
               Of
               no
               remoues
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             FIne
             knacks
             for
             Ladies
             ,
             cheape
             ,
             choise
             ,
             braue
             and
             new
             ,
             good
             peniworthes
             ,
             but
             mony
             cannot
             
             moue
             ,
             I
             keep
             a
             fayer
             ,
             but
             for
             the
             fayer
             to
             view
             ,
             a
             begger
             may
             be
             liberall
             of
             loue
             ,
             though
             all
             my
             wares
             be
             
             trash
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             ,
             ij
             .
             ij
             .
             is
             true
             .
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             FIne
             knacks
             for
             Ladies
             cheap
             ,
             choise
             ,
             braue
             and
             new
             ,
             good
             peni
             -
             
             worthes
             ,
             but
             mony
             cannot
             moue
             ,
             I
             keep
             a
             fayer
             ,
             but
             for
             the
             fayer
             to
             view
             ,
             a
             
             begger
             may
             be
             liberall
             of
             loue
             :
             though
             all
             my
             wares
             be
             trash
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             ,
             is
             
             true
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             ,
             ij
             .
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             .
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             FIne
             knacks
             for
             Ladies
             ,
             cheap
             ,
             choise
             ,
             braue
             and
             new
             ,
             good
             peniworthes
             but
             mony
             cannot
             moue
             ,
             
             I
             keepe
             a
             fayer
             but
             for
             the
             fayer
             to
             view
             ,
             a
             begger
             may
             be
             liberall
             of
             loue
             ,
             though
             all
             my
             wares
             
             be
             trash
             ,
             the
             heart
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             .
             ij
             .
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             ,
             the
             heart
             is
             true
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XIII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             NOw
             cease
             my
             wandring
             eies
             ,
             Strange
             beauties
             to
             admire
             ,
             One
             faith
          
           
             In
             change
             least
             comfort
             lies
             ,
             Long
             ioyes
             yeeld
             long
             desire
             .
             New
             hopes
          
           
             
          
           
             one
             loue
             ,
             Makes
             our
             fraile
             pleasures
             e-ter-nall
             ,
             And
             in
             sweetnesse
             proue
             .
          
           
             new
             ioyes
             ,
             Are
             still
             with
             sor-row
             decli-ning
             ,
             Vn-to
             deepe
             a
             -
             noies
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             
               One
               man
               hath
               but
               one
               soule
               ,
            
             
               Which
               art
               cannot
               deuide
               ,
            
             
               If
               all
               one
               soule
               must
               loue
               ,
            
             
               Two
               loues
               most
               be
               denide
               ,
            
             
               One
               soule
               one
               loue
               ,
            
             
               By
               faith
               and
               merit
               vnited
               cannot
               remoue
               ,
            
             
               Distracted
               spirits
               ,
            
             
               Are
               euer
               changing
               &
               haplesse
               in
               their
               delights
               .
            
          
           
             
               Nature
               two
               eyes
               hath
               giuen
               ,
            
             
               All
               beautie
               to
               impart
               ,
            
             
               Aswell
               in
               earth
               as
               heauen
               ,
            
             
               But
               she
               hath
               giuen
               one
               hart
               ,
            
             
               That
               though
               wee
               see
               ,
            
             
               Ten
               thousand
               beauties
               yet
               in
               vs
               one
               should
               be
               ,
            
             
               One
               stedfast
               loue
               ,
            
             
               Because
               our
               harts
               stand
               fixt
               although
               our
               eies
               do
               moue
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             NOw
             cease
             my
             wandring
             eyes
             ,
             strange
             beaw
             -
             ties
             to
             admyre
             .
             One
             faith
             one
          
           
             In
             change
             least
             comfort
             lyes
             ,
             long
             Ioyes
             yeld
             long
             de
             -
             sire
             .
             New
             hopes
             new
          
           
             
          
           
             loue
             makes
             our
             fraile
             pleasures
             eter
             -
             nall
             ,
             and
             in
             sweetnesse
             proue
             .
          
           
             Ioyes
             are
             still
             with
             sor
             -
             row
             decli
             -
             ning
             ,
             vn
             -
             to
             deep
             a
             -
             noyes
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             NOw
             cease
             my
             wandring
             eyes
             ,
             strange
             beaw-ties
             to
             ad-myre
             :
          
           
             In
             change
             least
             com-fort
             lyes
             ,
             long
             Ioyes
             yeld
             long
             de
             -
             sire
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             One
             fayth
             one
             loue
             makes
             our
             fraile
             pleasures
             e-ter-nall
             ,
             and
             in
             sweetnesse
             proue
             .
          
           
             New
             hopes
             new
             Ioyes
             are
             still
             with
             sor
             -
             row
             decli-ning
             ,
             vn
             -
             to
             deep
             a
             -
             noyes
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             NOw
             cease
             my
             wandring
             eyes
             ,
             strange
             bew
             -
             ties
             to
             admyre
             .
             One
             faith
             one
          
           
             In
             change
             least
             comfort
             lyes
             ,
             long
             Ioyes
             yeld
             long
             desyre
             .
             New
             hopes
             new
          
           
             
          
           
             loue
             ,
             ij
             .
             makes
             our
             fraile
             pleasures
             eternall
             ,
             and
             in
             sweetnesse
             prout
             .
          
           
             Ioyes
             ,
             ij
             .
             are
             still
             with
             sorrow
             declining
             ,
             vn-to
             deep
             a
             -
             noyes
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XIIII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             yee
             heauy
             states
             of
             night
             ,
             Doe
             my
             fathers
             spirit
             right
             ,
             
             Sound
             -
             ings
             balefull
             let
             mee
             borrow
             ,
             Burthe-ning
             my
             song
             with
             sorrow
             ,
             Come
             sor-row
             come
             
             hir
             eies
             that
             sings
             ,
             By
             thee
             are
             tur
             -
             ned
             in
             -
             to
             springs
             .
             
          
           
             
               Come
               you
               Virgins
               of
               the
               night
               ,
            
             
               That
               in
               Dirges
               sad
               delight
               ,
            
             
               Quier
               my
               Anthems
               ,
               I
               doe
               borrow
            
             
               Gold
               nor
               pearle
               ,
               but
               sounds
               of
               sorrow
               :
            
             
               Come
               sorrow
               come
               hir
               eies
               that
               sings
               ,
            
             
               By
               thee
               are
               tourned
               into
               springs
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XIIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             come
             ye
             heauy
             states
             of
             night
             ,
             doe
             my
             fathers
             spirit
             right
             ,
             soundings
             balefull
             
             let
             me
             borrow
             ,
             burthening
             my
             song
             with
             sorrow
             ,
             Come
             sorrow
             come
             come
             hir
             eyes
             that
             sings
             ,
             by
             thee
             
             are
             turned
             ,
             are
             turned
             in
             -
             to
             springs
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             ,
             come
             yee
             heauie
             states
             of
             night
             ,
             Doe
             my
             fathers
             spirit
             right
             ,
             Soun
             -
             
             dings
             balefull
             let
             mee
             borrow
             ,
             Burthening
             my
             song
             with
             sorrow
             ,
             Come
             sorrow
             come
             
             hir
             eies
             that
             singe
             ,
             By
             thee
             are
             turned
             in-to
             spring
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             COme
             come
             ye
             heauy
             states
             of
             night
             ,
             doe
             my
             fathers
             spirit
             right
             ,
             soundings
             balefull
             let
             me
             
             borrow
             ,
             burthening
             my
             song
             with
             sorrow
             ,
             Come
             sor
             -
             row
             come
             hir
             eyes
             that
             singes
             ,
             by
             thee
             are
             tur
             -
             
             ned
             ,
             are
             turn'd
             into
             springs
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XV.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             WHite
             as
             Lillies
             was
             hir
             face
             ,
             When
             she
             smiled
             ,
             She
             bee
             -
             guiled
             ,
             
             Quitting
             faith
             with
             foule
             disgrace
             ,
             Vertue
             seruice
             thus
             neglected
             ,
             Heart
             with
             for
             -
             rowes
             
             hath
             in-fected
             .
             
          
           
             
               2
               When
               I
               swore
               my
               hart
               hir
               owne
               ,
            
             
               Shee
               disdained
               ,
            
             
               I
               complained
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               shee
               left
               mee
               ouerthrowen
               ,
            
             
               Careles
               of
               my
               bitter
               groning
               ,
            
             
               Ruthlesse
               bent
               to
               no
               relieuing
               .
            
          
           
             
               3
               Vowes
               and
               oaths
               and
               faith
               assured
               ,
            
             
               Constant
               euer
               ,
            
             
               Changing
               neuer
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               shee
               could
               not
               bee
               procured
               ,
            
             
               To
               belecue
               my
               paines
               exceeding
               ,
            
             
               From
               hir
               sçant
               neglect
               proceeding
               .
            
          
           
             
               4
               Oh
               that
               Loue
               should
               haue
               the
               art
               ,
            
             
               By
               surmises
               ,
            
             
               And
               disguises
               ,
            
             
               To
               destroy
               a
               faithfull
               hart
               ,
            
             
               Or
               that
               wanton
               looking
               women
               ,
            
             
               Should
               reward
               their
               friends
               as
               foemen
               .
            
          
           
             
               5
               All
               in
               vaine
               is
               Ladies
               loue
               ,
            
             
               Quickly
               choosed
               ,
            
             
               Shortly
               loosed
               ,
            
             
               For
               their
               pride
               is
               to
               remoue
               ,
            
             
               Out
               alas
               their
               looks
               first
               won
               vs
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               pride
               hath
               straight
               vndone
               vs.
               
            
          
           
             
               6
               To
               thy selfe
               the
               sweetest
               faier
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               hast
               wounded
               ,
            
             
               And
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               Changles
               faith
               with
               foule
               dispaier
               ,
            
             
               And
               my
               seruice
               hath
               enuied
               ,
            
             
               And
               my
               succours
               hath
               denied
               .
            
          
           
             
               7
               By
               thine
               error
               thou
               haft
               loft
               ,
            
             
               Hart
               vnfained
               ,
            
             
               Truth
               vnstained
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               swaine
               that
               loued
               most
               ,
            
             
               More
               assured
               in
               loue
               then
               many
               ,
            
             
               More
               dispised
               in
               loue
               then
               any
               ,
            
          
           
             
               8
               For
               my
               hart
               though
               set
               at
               nought
               ,
            
             
               Since
               you
               will
               it
               ,
            
             
               Spoile
               and
               kill
               it
               ,
            
             
               I
               will
               neuer
               change
               my
               thoughts
               ,
            
             
               But
               grieue
               that
               beautie
               ere
               was
               borne
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XV.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             WHite
             as
             Lillies
             was
             hir
             face
             ,
             When
             shee
             smiled
             shee
             beguiled
             ,
             Quitting
             faith
             with
             soule
             dis
             -
             
             grace
             ,
             Vertue
             seruice
             thus
             neglected
             ,
             Heart
             with
             sorrowes
             hath
             in
             -
             fected
             .
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             WHite
             as
             Lillies
             was
             hir
             face
             ,
             When
             shee
             smiled
             ,
             Shee
             beguiled
             ,
             Quit
             -
             
             ting
             fath
             with
             foule
             disgrace
             ,
             Vertue
             seruice
             thus
             neglected
             ,
             Heart
             with
             sorrowes
             
             hath
             infected
             .
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             WHite
             as
             Lillies
             was
             hir
             face
             ,
             When
             shee
             smiled
             ,
             She
             beguiled
             ,
             Quitting
             faith
             with
             foule
             dis
             -
             
             grace
             ,
             Vertue
             seruice
             thus
             neg
             -
             lected
             ,
             heart
             with
             sorrowes
             with
             sorrowes
             hath
             in
             -
             sected
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XVI
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             WOfull
             hart
             with
             griefe
             oppressed
             ,
             Since
             my
             fortunes
             most
             dis
             -
             
             tressed
             ,
             From
             my
             ioyes
             hath
             mee
             re
             -
             mo
             -
             ued
             ,
             Follow
             those
             sweet
             
             eies
             adored
             ,
             Those
             sweet
             eyes
             where
             -
             in
             are
             stored
             ,
             All
             my
             plea
             -
             sures
             
             best
             bee
             -
             loued
             .
             
          
           
             
               Fly
               my
               breast
               ,
               leaue
               mee
               forsaken
               ,
            
             
               Wherein
               Griese
               his
               seate
               hath
               taken
               ,
            
             
               All
               his
               arrowes
               through
               mee
               darting
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               maist
               liue
               by
               hir
               Sunne-shining
               ,
            
             
               I
               shall
               suffer
               no
               more
               pining
               ,
            
             
               By
               thy
               losse
               ,
               then
               by
               hir
               parting
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XVI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             WOfull
             heart
             with
             griefe
             oppressed
             ,
             since
             my
             fortunes
             most
             distressed
             ,
             From
             my
             Ioyes
             
             my
             Ioyes
             hath
             mee
             remou'd
             ,
             follow
             those
             sweet
             eyes
             a
             -
             dored
             ,
             those
             faier
             eyes
             wherein
             are
             
             stored
             ,
             all
             my
             ple
             -
             sures
             best
             be
             -
             loued
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             WOfull
             heart
             with
             griese
             oppressed
             ,
             since
             my
             fortunes
             most
             di
             -
             
             stressed
             ,
             from
             my
             Ioyes
             hath
             me
             re
             -
             mou'd
             ,
             follow
             those
             sweet
             eyes
             ,
             sweet
             eyes
             a
             -
             
             dored
             ,
             all
             my
             plea
             -
             sures
             best
             beloued
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             WOfull
             heart
             with
             griese
             oppressed
             ,
             since
             my
             fortunes
             most
             distressed
             ,
             From
             my
             Ioyes
             ,
             
             my
             Ioyes
             hath
             me
             re
             -
             moued
             ,
             Follow
             those
             sweet
             eyes
             those
             sweet
             eyes
             adored
             ,
             those
             sweet
             eyes
             wher
             -
             
             in
             are
             stored
             ,
             all
             my
             pleasures
             best
             pleasures
             best
             be
             -
             loued
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XVII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             A
             Shepheard
             in
             a
             shade
             ,
             his
             plaining
             made
             ,
             Of
             loue
             and
             lo-uers
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             Since
             loue
             and
             Fortune
             will
             ,
             I
             honour
             still
             ,
             your
             faire
             and
             louely
             eye
             ,
          
           
             
          
           
             Vn
             -
             to
             the
             fairest
             lasse
             ,
             That
             trode
             on
             grasse
             ,
             And
             thus
             bee-gan
             his
             song
             ,
          
           
             What
             conquest
             will
             it
             bee
             ,
             Sweet
             Nimph
             for
             thee
             ,
             It
             I
             for
             sorrow
             dye
             ,
             Restore
             ,
             restore
             my
          
           
             
          
           
             hart
             againe
             ,
             Which
             loue
             by
             thy
             sweet
             lookes
             hath
             slaine
             ,
             Least
             that
             inforst
             by
             your
             disdaine
             ,
             I
             sing
             ,
          
           
             
          
           
             Fye
             fye
             on
             loue
             ,
             ij
             .
             it
             is
             a
             foolish
             thing
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             
               My
               hart
               where
               haue
               you
               laid
               O
               cruell
               maide
               ,
            
             
               To
               kill
               when
               you
               might
               saue
               ,
            
             
               Why
               haue
               yee
               cast
               it
               sorth
               as
               nothing
               worth
               ,
            
             
               Without
               a
               tombe
               or
               graue
               .
            
             
               O
               let
               it
               bee
               intombed
               and
               lye
               ,
            
             
               In
               your
               sweet
               minde
               and
               memorie
               ,
            
             
               Least
               I
               resound
               on
               euery
               warbling
               string
               ,
            
             
               Fyefye
               on
               loue
               that
               is
               a
               foolish
               thing
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XVII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             A
             Shepherd
             in
             a
             shade
             ,
             his
             plaining
             made
             ,
             of
             loue
             &
             louets
             wrong
             ,
             vn
             -
             to
             the
             fairest
             lasse
             ,
          
           
             Since
             loue
             and
             fortune
             will
             ,
             I
             honour
             still
             ,
             your
             faire
             &
             louely
             eye
             ,
             what
             cōquest
             will
             it
             be
             ,
          
           
             
          
           
             ij
             .
             that
             trode
             on
             grasse
             ,
             and
             thus
             be
             -
             gan
             his
             song
             .
             Restore
             restore
             my
             heart
             a
             -
          
           
             ij
             .
             sweet
             Nimphe
             for
             thee
             ,
             if
             I
             for
             sor-row
             dye
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             gaine
             ,
             which
             loue
             by
             thy
             sweet
             lookes
             hath
             slaine
             ,
             by
             your
             disdain
             I
             sing
             ,
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             ,
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             ,
          
           
             
          
           
             fie
             ,
             it
             is
             a
             folish
             thing
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             A
             A
             Shepherd
             in
             a
             shade
             ,
             his
             plaining
             made
             ,
             of
             loue
             &
          
           
             Since
             loue
             and
             fortune
             will
             ,
             I
             ho-nour
             still
             ,
             your
             faire
             &
          
           
             
          
           
             lo-uers
             wrong
             ,
             vn
             -
             to
             the
             fai-rest
             lasse
             ,
             that
             trode
             on
          
           
             loue-ly
             eye
             ,
             what
             conquest
             will
             it
             be
             ,
             sweet
             Nimphe
             for
          
           
             
          
           
             grasse
             ,
             and
             thus
             began
             his
             song
             .
             Restore
             restore
             my
             heart
             a
             -
          
           
             thee
             ,
             if
             I
             for
             sorrow
             dye
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             gaine
             ,
             which
             loue
             by
             thy
             sweet
             lookes
             hath
             slaine
             ,
             least
             that
             inforst
          
           
             
          
           
             by
             your
             disdaine
             I
             sing
             ,
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             ,
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             fie
             it
          
           
             
          
           
             is
             a
             fo-lish
             thing
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             A
             Shepherd
             in
             a
             shade
             ,
             his
             playning
             made
             .
             of
             loue
             and
             louers
             wrong
             ,
             vn
             -
             to
             the
             fai-rest
             lasse
             ,
          
           
             Since
             loue
             &
             fortnue
             wil
             ,
             I
             ho-nour
             still
             ,
             your
             faier
             and
             louely
             eye
             ,
             what
             conquest
             will
             it
             be
             ,
          
           
             
          
           
             ij
             .
             that
             trode
             on
             grasse
             ,
             and
             thus
             be
             -
             gan
             his
             song
             .
             Restore
             restore
             my
             heart
             a
             -
          
           
             sweet
             Nimphe
             for
             thee
             ,
             if
             I
             for
             sor-row
             dye
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             gaine
             ,
             which
             loue
             by
             thy
             sweet
             sweet
             lookes
             hath
             slaine
             ,
             least
             that
             inforst
             ,
             inforst
             by
             your
             disdaine
             ,
             ij
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             I
             sing
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             ,
             fie
             fie
             fie
             on
             loue
             it
             is
             a
             folish
             thing
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XVIII
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             FAction
             that
             euer
             dwels
             ,
             In
             court
             where
             wits
             excells
             ,
             hath
             set
             de
             -
             
             fiance
             ,
             Fortune
             and
             loue
             hath
             sworne
             ,
             That
             they
             were
             neuer
             borne
             ,
             of
             one
             aliance
             .
             
          
           
             
               1
               Fortune
               sweares
               ,
               weakest
               harts
            
             
               The
               booke
               of
               Cupids
               arts
            
             
               Turne
               with
               hir
               wheele
               ,
            
             
               Sences
               themselues
               shall
               proue
            
             
               Venture
               hir
               place
               in
               loue
            
             
               Aske
               them
               that
               feele
               .
            
          
           
             
               2
               This
               discord
               it
               beget
            
             
               Atheist
               that
               honour
               not
            
             
               Nature
               thought
               good
               ,
            
             
               Fortune
               should
               euer
               dwell
            
             
               In
               court
               where
               wits
               excell
            
             
               Loue
               keepe
               the
               vvood
               .
            
          
           
             
               3
               So
               to
               the
               wood
               vvent
               I
            
             
               With
               loue
               to
               liue
               and
               die
            
             
               Fortune
               forlorne
               ,
            
             
               Experience
               of
               my
               youth
            
             
               Made
               mee
               thinke
               humble
               truth
            
             
               In
               desert
               borne
               .
            
          
           
             
               4
               My
               saint
               is
               deere
               to
               mee
               ,
            
             
               And
               Ione
               hir selfe
               is
               shee
            
             
               Ione
               faier
               and
               true
               ,
            
             
               Ione
               that
               doth
               euer
               moue
               ,
            
             
               Passions
               of
               loue
               with
               loue
            
             
               Fortune
               adiew
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XVIII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             FAction
             that
             e
             -
             uer
             dwells
             ,
             in
             Court
             where
             wittes
             excells
             ,
             hath
             set
             defiance
             ,
             fortune
             
             and
             loue
             ,
             hath
             sworne
             ,
             that
             they
             were
             ne
             -
             uer
             borne
             of
             one
             a
             -
             liance
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVIII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             FAction
             ,
             that
             euer
             dwells
             ,
             in
             Court
             where
             wittes
             excells
             ,
             hath
             set
             
             de
             -
             fiance
             ,
             fortune
             ,
             and
             loue
             hath
             sworne
             ,
             that
             they
             were
             neuer
             borne
             ,
             of
             oue
             aliance
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVIII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             FAction
             ,
             that
             euer
             dwells
             ,
             in
             Court
             where
             witts
             excells
             ,
             hath
             set
             de-fiance
             :
             Forrune
             and
             
             loue
             ,
             hath
             sworne
             ,
             that
             they
             were
             ne
             -
             uer
             borne
             ,
             of
             one
             a
             -
             liance
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XIX
           .
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             SHall
             I
             sue
             shall
             I
             seeke
             for
             grace
             ?
             Shall
             I
             pray
             shall
             I
             proue
             ?
             Shall
             I
             
             striue
             to
             a
             heauenly
             Ioy
             ,
             with
             an
             earthly
             loue
             ?
             Shall
             I
             think
             that
             a
             bleeding
             hart
             or
             
             a
             wounded
             eie
             ,
             Or
             a
             sigh
             can
             ascend
             the
             cloudes
             to
             at-taine
             so
             hie
             .
             
          
           
             
               2
               Silly
               wretch
               forsake
               these
               dreames
               ,
               of
               a
               vaine
               desire
               ,
            
             
               O
               bethinke
               what
               hie
               regard
               ,
               holy
               hopes
               doe
               require
               .
            
             
               Fauour
               is
               as
               faire
               as
               things
               are
               ,
               treasure
               is
               not
               bought
               ,
            
             
               Fauour
               is
               not
               wonne
               with
               words
               ,
               nor
               the
               wish
               of
               a
               thought
               .
            
          
           
             
               3
               Pittie
               is
               but
               a
               poore
               defence
               ,
               for
               a
               dying
               hart
               ,
            
             
               Ladies
               eies
               respect
               no
               mone
               ,
               in
               a
               meane
               desert
               .
            
             
               Shee
               is
               to
               worthie
               far
               ,
               for
               a
               worth
               so
               base
               ,
            
             
               Cruell
               and
               but
               iust
               is
               shee
               ,
               in
               my
               iust
               disgrace
               .
            
          
           
             
               Iustice
               giues
               each
               man
               his
               owne
               ,
               though
               my
               loue
               bee
               iust
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               will
               not
               shee
               pittie
               my
               griefe
               ,
               therefore
               die
               I
               must
               ,
            
             
               Silly
               hart
               then
               yeeld
               to
               die
               ,
               perish
               in
               dispaire
               ,
            
             
               Witnesse
               yet
               how
               faine
               I
               die
               ,
               When
               I
               die
               for
               the
               faire
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XIX
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             SHall
             I
             sue
             ,
             shall
             I
             seeke
             for
             grace
             ,
             shall
             I
             pray
             ,
             shall
             I
             proue
             ,
             shall
             I
             striue
             to
             a
             heauenly
             
             Ioye
             ,
             with
             an
             earthly
             loue
             ,
             shall
             I
             thinck
             that
             a
             bleeding
             heart
             ,
             ij
             .
             or
             a
             wounded
             eye
             ,
             or
             a
             
             sigh
             can
             ascend
             the
             cloudes
             ,
             ascend
             the
             cloudes
             ,
             to
             attaine
             so
             hie
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIX
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             SHall
             I
             sue
             shall
             I
             seeke
             for
             grace
             ,
             shall
             I
             pray
             shall
             I
             proue
             ,
             
             shall
             I
             striue
             to
             a
             heauenly
             Ioye
             with
             an
             earthly
             loue
             :
             Shall
             I
             thinck
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             that
             a
             bleeding
             heart
             or
             a
             wounded
             eye
             ,
             or
             a
             sigh
             ,
             can
             ascend
             the
             cloudes
             
             to
             attaine
             so
             hie
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIX
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             SHall
             I
             sue
             ,
             shall
             I
             seeke
             for
             grace
             ,
             shall
             I
             pray
             ,
             shall
             I
             proue
             ,
             shall
             I
             striue
             to
             a
             heauenly
             
             Ioye
             with
             an
             earthly
             loue
             ,
             Shall
             I
             thinck
             that
             a
             bleeding
             heart
             or
             a
             wounded
             eye
             ,
             or
             a
             sigh
             
             can
             ascend
             the
             cloudes
             ,
             the
             cloudes
             ,
             to
             attaine
             so
             hie
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XX.
           
        
         
           
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             for
             FInding
             in
             fields
             :
             ye
             shall
             finde
             a
             better
             dittie
             .
          
           
             
             TOsse
             not
             my
             soule
             ,
             O
             loue
             twixt
             hope
             and
             feare
             ,
             
             Shew
             mee
             some
             ground
             where
             I
             may
             firme
             -
             ly
             stand
             or
             sure
             -
             ly
             
             fall
             ,
             I
             care
             not
             which
             a
             -
             peare
             ,
             So
             one
             will
             close
             mee
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             in
             a
             cer
             -
             taine
             band
             .
             When
             once
             of
             ill
             the
             vtter
             -
             most
             is
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             knowen
             ,
             The
             strength
             of
             sor
             -
             row
             quite
             is
             o-uer
             throwne
             .
             
          
           
             
               Take
               mee
               Assurance
               to
               thy
               blisfull
               holde
               ,
            
             
               Or
               thou
               Despaire
               vnto
               thy
               darkest
               Cell
               ,
            
             
               Fach
               hath
               full
               rest
               ,
               the
               one
               in
               ioyes
               enrolde
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               other
               ,
               in
               that
               hee
               feares
               no
               more
               ,
               is
               well
               :
            
             
               When
               once
               the
               vttermost
               of
               ill
               is
               knowne
               ,
            
             
               The
               strength
               of
               sorrow
               quite
               is
               ouerthrowne
               .
            
          
           
             The
             end
             of
             the
             foure
             parts
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XX.
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             TOsse
             not
             my
             soule
             (
             O
             loue
             )
             twixt
             hope
             and
             feare
             ,
             shew
             mee
             some
             ground
             wher
             I
             may
             firm
             -
             
             ly
             stand
             ,
             or
             surely
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             care
             not
             which
             apeare
             ,
             so
             one
             will
             close
             mee
             in
             a
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             certaine
             band
             ,
             in
             a
             certaine
             band
             .
             When
             once
             of
             ill
             ,
             the
             vttermost
             is
             knowne
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             the
             strength
             of
             sorrow
             quite
             is
             ouerthrowne
             .
          
        
         
           
             XX.
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             TOsse
             not
             my
             soule
             :
             Shew
             mee
             some
             ground
             where
             I
             may
             firmely
             stand
             ,
             or
             
             surely
             fall
             ,
             ij
             .
             I
             care
             not
             which
             apeare
             ,
             so
             one
             will
             close
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             will
             close
             mee
             in
             a
             certaine
             band
             .
             When
             once
             of
             
             ill
             the
             vttermost
             is
             knowne
             ,
             the
             strength
             of
             sorrow
             quite
             is
             ouer
             throwne
             .
          
           
             The
             end
             of
             the
             foure
             parts
             .
          
        
         
           
             XX.
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             TOsse
             not
             my
             soule
             ,
             (
             O
             loue
             ,
             )
             twixt
             hope
             &
             feare
             ,
             ij
             .
             Shew
             mee
             some
             ground
             
             where
             I
             may
             firmely
             stand
             or
             surely
             fall
             ,
             or
             fall
             ,
             or
             surely
             fall
             ,
             I
             care
             not
             which
             apeare
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             Lenuoy
             :
             
             so
             one
             will
             close
             ,
             mee
             in
             a
             certaine
             band
             .
             When
             once
             of
             ill
             ,
             the
             vtter
             -
             
             most
             ,
             when
             once
             of
             ill
             the
             vttermost
             is
             knowne
             ,
             the
             strength
             of
             sorrow
             quite
             is
             ouer
             throwne
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XXI
           .
        
         
           
             QVINTO
             .
          
           
             For
             a
             treble
             Vidl
             .
          
           
             
             CLeare
             or
             Cloudie
             :
             Of
             that
             night
             bird
             that
             singeth
             ,
             Who
             thought
             all
             sweet
             ,
             ij
             .
             
             Yet
             iarring
             notes
             out
             ringeth
             .
          
        
         
           
             XXI
             .
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             
             CLeare
             or
             cloudie
             sweet
             as
             Aprill
             showring
             ,
             Smoth
             or
             frowning
             so
             is
             hir
             
             face
             to
             mee
             ,
             Pleasd
             or
             smiling
             like
             milde
             May
             all
             flowring
             ,
             When
             skies
             blew
             silke
             and
             me
             -
             dowes
             
             carpets
             bee
             ,
             Hir
             speeches
             notes
             of
             that
             night
             bird
             that
             singeth
             ,
             Who
             thought
             all
             
             sweet
             yet
             larring
             notes
             out
             -
             ring
             -
             eth
             .
             
          
           
             
               Hir
               grace
               like
               Iune
               ,
               when
               earth
               and
               trees
               bee
               trimde
               ,
            
             
               In
               best
               attire
               of
               compleat
               beauties
               height
               ,
            
             
               Hir
               loue
               againe
               like
               sommers
               daies
               bee
               dimde
               ,
            
             
               With
               little
               cloudes
               of
               doubtfull
               constant
               faith
               ,
            
             
               Hir
               trust
               hir
               doubt
               ,
               like
               raine
               and
               heat
               in
               Skies
               ,
            
             
               Gently
               thundring
               ,
               she
               lightning
               to
               mine
               eies
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Sweet
               sommer
               spring
               that
               breatheth
               life
               and
               growing
               ,
            
             
               In
               weedes
               as
               into
               hearbs
               and
               flowers
               ,
            
             
               And
               sees
               of
               seruice
               diuers
               sorts
               in
               sowing
               ,
            
             
               Some
               haply
               seeming
               and
               some
               being
               yours
               ,
            
             
               Raine
               on
               your
               hearbs
               and
               flowers
               that
               truely
               serue
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               your
               weeds
               lack
               dew
               and
               duely
               sterue
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XXI
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             CLeare
             or
             cloudie
             sweet
             as
             Aprill
             showring
             ,
             smoth
             or
             frowning
             ,
             so
             is
             hir
             face
             to
             mee
             ,
             pleasd
             
             or
             smiling
             ,
             like
             milde
             may
             all
             flowring
             ,
             when
             Skies
             blew
             filke
             and
             medowes
             car
             -
             pets
             be
             ,
             hir
             speches
             ,
             
             notes
             of
             that
             night
             bird
             that
             sings
             ,
             who
             thought
             all
             sweet
             ,
             yet
             Iarring
             notes
             out
             ringeth
             .
          
        
         
           
             XXI
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             CLeare
             or
             Clowdie
             ,
             sweet
             as
             Aprill
             showring
             ,
             smothe
             or
             frow
             -
             
             ning
             ,
             so
             is
             hir
             face
             to
             mee
             ,
             pleasd
             or
             smiling
             ,
             like
             milde
             May
             all
             flowring
             ,
             when
             
             Skies
             blue
             filke
             and
             medowes
             carpets
             be
             ,
             hir
             speeches
             notes
             of
             that
             night
             bird
             
             that
             singeth
             ,
             who
             thought
             all
             sweet
             ,
             yet
             iarring
             notes
             out
             ringeth
             .
          
        
         
           
             XXI
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             CLeare
             or
             cloudie
             sweet
             as
             Aprill
             showring
             ,
             smoth
             or
             frowning
             so
             is
             hir
             face
             to
             mee
             ,
             pleasd
             or
             
             smiling
             like
             mild
             May
             all
             flowring
             ,
             when
             Skies
             blew
             silke
             blew
             silke
             and
             Medowes
             carpets
             be
             ,
             hir
             speeches
             
             notes
             of
             that
             night
             bird
             that
             fingeth
             ,
             who
             thought
             all
             sweet
             yet
             iarring
             notes
             out
             ringeth
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           XXII
           .
        
         
           
             QVINTO
             .
          
           
             For
             a
             treble
             Violl
             .
          
           
             
             HVmor
             :
             Princes
             
             Chorus
             :
             
          
        
         
           
             XXII
             .
             CANTO
             .
          
           
             A
             Dialogue
             .
          
           
             
             HVmor
             say
             what
             mak'st
             thou
             heere
             ,
             In
             the
             presence
             of
             a
             Queene
             ,
             
             Thou
             art
             a
             heauy
             leaden
             moode
             ,
             
             Chorus
             :
             
             But
             neuer
             Hu
             -
             mor
             yet
             was
             true
             ,
             but
             that
             but
             that
             but
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             
             that
             which
             one-ly
             one-ly
             pleaseth
             you
             .
             
          
           
             
               1
               O
               ,
               I
               am
               as
               heauy
               as
               earth
               ,
            
             
               Say
               then
               who
               is
               Humor
               now
               .
            
             
               1
               Why
               then
               t
               is
               I
               am
               drownde
               in
               Woe
               ,
            
             
               But
               neuer
               Humor
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               1
               Mirth
               then
               is
               drownde
               in
               sorrowes
               brim
               ,
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               in
               sorrow
               all
               things
               sleepe
               .
            
             
               1
               In
               hir
               presence
               all
               things
               smile
               ,
            
             
               Humor
               frolike
               then
               a
               while
               .
            
             
               But
               neuer
               Humor
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
           
             XXII
             .
             ALTO
             .
          
           
             
             HVmor
             :
             
             Chorus
             :
             
             But
             neuer
             humor
             yet
             was
             
             true
             ,
             but
             that
             but
             that
             but
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             which
             onely
             onely
             pleaseth
             you
             .
          
        
         
           
             XXII
             .
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             HVmor
             :
             Princes
             hould
             conceit
             most
             
             deere
             ,
             all
             conceit
             in
             humor
             seene
             :
             Humor
             is
             inuencions
             foode
             :
             Chorus
             :
             
             but
             neuer
             humor
             yet
             was
             true
             ,
             but
             that
             but
             that
             but
             that
             that
             that
             
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             which
             one
             -
             ly
             pleaseth
             you
             .
          
           
             
               2
               I
               am
               now
               inclind
               to
               mirth
               ,
               humor
               I
               as
               well
               as
               thou
               .
            
             
               2
               No
               no
               wit
               is
               cherisht
               so
               ,
               but
               neuer
               humor
               :
               &c.
               
            
             
               2
               No
               no
               foole
               the
               light
               's
               things
               swim
               ▪
               heauie
               things
               sinck
               to
               the
               deepe
               :
               but
               neuer
               humor
               :
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             XXII
             .
             TENORE
             .
          
           
             
             HVmor
             :
             
             Chorus
             :
             
             But
             neuer
             humor
             yet
             was
             true
             ,
             but
             that
             but
             that
             
             but
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             that
             which
             one-ly
             pleaseth
             you
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           
           
             BASSO
             .
          
           
             
             DOwlands
             adew
             ,
             
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
         
           
             Dowlands
             adew
             for
             Master
             Oliuer
             Cromwell
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
         
      
    
     
  

