From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours, 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.
O 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.
O 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.
I thought, my love, that I should overtake you; Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree, And I will promise never to forsake you, So you will grant to me a lover's fee. Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said-- I never meant to live and die a maid.
O sweet, alas, what say you? Ay me, that face discloses The scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses. And yet, alas, I know not If such a crimson staining Be for love or disdaining; But if of love it grow not, Be it disdain conceivèd To see us of love's fruits so long bereavèd.
From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).
O sweet delight, O more than human bliss With her to live that ever loving is! To hear her speak whose words are so well placed That she by them, as they by her are graced! Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye, How blest is he that may so live and die!