N

From THOMAS MORLEY'S First
Book of Ballets, 1595.

WOW is the month of maying,
When merry lads are playing

Each with his bonny lass

Upon the greeny grass.

Fa la la !

The spring clad all in gladness
Doth laugh at winter's sadness,
And to the bagpipe's sound

The nymphs tread out their ground.
Fa la la!

Fie then, why sit we musing,
Youth's sweet delight refusing?
Say, dainty nymphs, and speak,
Shall we play barley-break.

Fa la la !

N

From THOMAS CAMPION'S Third
Book of Airs (circ. 1613).

WOW let her change! and spare not!

Since she proves strange, I care not!
Feigned love charmed so my delight,
That still I doted on her sight.
But she is gone! new joys embracing,
And my distress disgracing.

When did I err in blindness?
Or vex her with unkindness?
If my cares served her alone,
Why is she thus untimely gone?
True love abides to th' hour of dying :
False love is ever flying.

False then farewell for ever!
Once false proves faithful never !
He that boasts now of thy love,
Shall soon my present fortunes prove
Were he as fair as bright Adonis :
Faith is not had where none is !

N

From THOMAS WEELKES' Madrigals of Five and Six Parts, 1600.

OW let us make a merry greeting

And thank God Cupid for our meeting:

My heart is full of joy and pleasure
Since thou art here, mine only treasure.
Now will we dance and sport and play
And sing a merry roundelay.

From ROBERT JONES's Second Book of Airs, 1601. (Attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh.)

Now what is love, I thee tell?

It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasures and repentance dwell;
It is perhaps that sancing-bell'
That tolls all in to heaven or hell:
And this is love, as I hear tell.

Now what is love, I pray thee say?
It is a work on holyday,

It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of their play :
And this is love, as I hear say.

Now what is love, I pray thee feign ?
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
It is a gentle pleasing pain,

A flower that dies and springs again,
It is a No that would full fain:
And this is love as I hear feign.

Yet what is love, I pray thee say?
It is a pretty shady way

As well found out by night as day,

It is a thing will soon decay;

Then take the vantage whilst you may :
And this is love, as I hear say.

1 Saint's-bell; the little bell that called to prayers.

Now what is love, I pray thee show?
A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for mo,
And he that proves shall find it so :
And this is love, as well know.

From THOMAS CAMPION's Third
Book of Airs (circ. 1613).

OW winter nights enlarge

Now enlargers,

And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.

Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o'erflow with wine;

Let well-tuned words amaze

With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights

Shall wait on honey love,

While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights

Sleep's leaden spells remove.

This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,

Some knotted riddles tell,

Some poems smoothly read.

The summer hath his joys
And winter his delights;

Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.

From JOHN WARD'S First Set of

English Madrigals, 1613.

SAY, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries,

So lovely-ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?

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

From JOHN FARMER'S First Set of English Madrigals, 1599.

STAY, sweet love; see here the place of sporting;
These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,

And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting,
Warbling sweet notes only to delight us :

Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me,
Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.