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Song If groning cries might salue my fault at last, Teares kills the heart belieue,

Flow my tears fall from your springs, Or endles mone, for error pardon win, O striue not to bee excellent in woe,
Exilded for euer : let mee mourne Then would I cry, weepe, sigh, and euer mone, Which onely breeds your beauties ouerthrow.
Where nightes black bird hir sad infamy sings, Mine errors, fault, sins, follies past and gone.
There let mee liue forlorne. Reading
I see my hopes must wither in their bud, When to myself I act and smile,
Downe vaine lightes shine you no more, I see my fauours are no lasting flowers, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
No nightes are dark enough for those I see that woords will breede no better good, By a brook side or wood so green,
That in dispaire their lost fortuns deplore, Then losse of time and lightening but at houres, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
Light doth but shame disclose. Thus when I see then thus I say therefore, A thousand pleasures do me bless,
That fauours hopes and words, can blinde no more. And crown my soul with happiness.
Neuer may my woes be relieued, All my joys besides are folly,
Since pittie is fled, Reading None so sweet as melancholy.
And teares and sighes and grones my wearie dayes A young gentlewoman in Basil was married to an ancient man
Of all ioyes haue depriued. against her will, whom she could not affect; she was Lute Solo
continually melancholy, and pined away for grief; and though Merry Melancholie
From the highest spire of contentment her husband did all he could possibly to give her content, in a
My fortune is throwne, discontented humour at length she hanged herself. Thus men Reading
And feare and griefe and paine for my deserts are plagued with women; they again with men, when they are I'll change my state with any wretch,
Are my hopes since hope is gone. of divers humours and conditions; he a spendthrift, she Thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch;
sparing; one honest, the other dishonest, &c My pain's past cure, another hell,
Harke you shadowes that in darkness dwell, I may not in this torment dwell!
Learne to contemne light Song Now desperate I hate my life,
Happie happy they that in hell I saw my Lady weepe, Lend me a halter or a knife;
Feele not the worlds despite. And sorrow proud to bee aduanced so : All my griefs to this are jolly,
In those faire eies where all perfections keepe, Naught so damn'd as melancholy.
Reading Hir face was full of woe,
When Jupiter himself wept for Sarpedon, what else did the But such a woe (beleeue me) as wins more hearts, Lute Solo
poet insinuate, but that some sorrow is good. Beside, as Than mirth can doe, with hir intysing parts. Semper Dowland, Semper Dolens
Plutarch holds, 'tis not in our power not to lament, Indolentia
non cuivis contingit, it takes away mercy and pity, not to be Sorrow was there made faire, Reading
sad; 'tis a natural passion to weep for our friends, an And passion wise, teares a delightfull thing, But the most familiar and usual cause of love is that which
irresistible passion to lament and grieve. "I know not how" Silence beyond all speech a wisdome rare, comes by sight, which conveys those admirable rays of
(saith Seneca) "but sometimes 'tis good to be miserable in Shee made her sighes to sing, beauty and pleasing graces to the heart. Plotinus derives love
misery: and for the most part all grief evacuates itself by And all things with so sweet a sadnesse moue, from sight, "the eyes are the harbingers of love," and the first
tears," As made my heart at once both grieue and loue. step of love is sight, as Lilius Giraldus proves at large, they as
two sluices let in the influences of that divine, powerful, soul-
Song O fayrer than ought ells, ravishing, and captivating beauty, which, as one saith, "is
If fluds of teares could cleanse my follies past, The world can shew, leaue of in time to grieue, sharper than any dart or needle, wounds deeper into the
And smoakes of sighes might sacrifice for sinne, Inough, inough, your ioyfull lookes excells, heart; and opens a gap through our eyes to that lovely wound,
which pierceth the soul itself" Least that inforst by your disdaine, I sing,
Song Fye, fye on loue, it is a foolish thing.
Song Mourne, mourne, day is with darknesse fled,
Now cease my wandring eies, What heauen then gouernes earth, My hart where haue you laid O cruell maide,
Strange beauties to admire, O none, but hell in heauen stead, To kill when you might saue,
In change least comfort lies, Choakes with his mistes our mirth. Why haue yee cast it forth as nothing worth,
Long ioyes yeeld long desire. Mourne, mourne, looke now for no more day Without a tombe or graue.
One faith one loue, Nor night, but that from hell,
Makes our fraile pleasures eternall, Then all must as they may, O let it bee intombed and lye,
And in sweetnesse proue. In darknesse learne to dwell. In your sweet minde and memorie,
New hopes new ioyes, But yet this change must needes change our delight, Least I refound on euery warbling string,
Are still with sorrow declining, That thus the Sunne should harbour with the night. Fye fye on loue that is a foolish thing.
Vnto deepe anoies.
Reading Reading
One man hath but one soule, Idleness overthrows all, love tyranniseth in an idle person. If I'th' under column there doth stand
Which art cannot deuide, thou hast nothing to do, thou shalt be haled in pieces with Inamorato with folded hand;
If all one soule must loue, envy, lust, some passion or other. Homines nihil agendo Down hangs his head, terse and polite,
Two loues most be denide, male agere discunt; 'tis Aristotle's simile, "as match or Some ditty sure he doth indite.
One soule one loue, touchwood takes fire, so doth an idle person love." The poets His lute and books about him lie,
By faith and merit vnited cannot remoue, therefore did well to feign all shepherds lovers, to give As symptoms of his vanity.
Distracted spirits, themselves to songs and dalliances, because they lived such If this do not enough disclose,
Are euer changing & haplesse in their delights. idle lives. For love, as Theophrastus defines it, is an affection To paint him, take thyself by th' nose.
of an idle mind, or as Seneca describes it, youth begets it, riot
Nature two eyes hath giuen, maintains it, idleness nourisheth it, &c. which makes Lute Solo
All beautie to impart, Gordonius the physician call this disease the proper passion Lachrimae Pavan
Aswell in earth as heauen, of nobility.
But she hath giuen one hart, Reading
That though wee see, Song Secondary peculiar causes efficient; The first of these, which
Ten thousand beauties yet in vs one should be, A Shepeard in a shade, his plaining made is natural to all, and which no man living can avoid, is old age,
One stedfast loue, Of loue and louers wrong, which being cold and dry, and of the same quality as
Because our harts stand fixt although our eies do moue. Vnto the fairest lasse that trode on grasse, melancholy is, must needs cause it, by diminution of spirits
And thus beegan his song. and substance, and increasing of adust humours; therefore
Reading Melancthon avers out of Aristotle, as an undoubted truth, that
"Will not any windows to be opened in the night." Montanus Since loue and Fortune will, I honour still old men familiarly dote, for black choler, which is then
discommends especially the south wind, and nocturnal air: So Your faire and louely eye, superabundant in them: and Rhasis, that Arabian physician,
doth Plutarch. The night and darkness makes men sad, the What conquest will it bee, Sweet Nimph for thee, calls it "a necessary and inseparable accident," to all old and
like do all subterranean vaults, dark houses in caves and If I for sorrow dye. decrepit persons. After seventy years (as the Psalmist saith)
rocks, desert places cause melancholy in an instant, "all is trouble and sorrow;" and common experience confirms
especially such as have not been used to it, or otherwise Restore, restore my hart againe, the truth of it in weak and old persons, especially such as
accustomed. Which loue by thy sweet lookes hath slaine, have lived in action all their lives, had great employment,
much business, much command, and many servants to pain of his stomach, he had a conceit to make away himself.
oversee, and leave off ex abrupto; they are overcome with Julius Caesar Claudin so affected, that through fear and Song
melancholy in an instant: or if they do continue in such sorrow, with which he was still disquieted, hated his own life, Cleare or cloudie sweet as Aprill showring.
courses, they dote at last and are not able to manage their wished for death every moment, and to be freed of his misery. Smoth or frowning so it is hir face to mee,
estates through common infirmities incident in their age; full of Mercurialis another, and another that was often minded to Pleasd or smiling like milde May all flowring,
ache, sorrow and grief, children again, dizzards, they carl despatch himself, and so continued for many years. When skies blew silke and medowes carpets bee,
many times as they sit, and talk to themselves, they are Hir speeches notes of that night bird that singeth,
angry, waspish, displeased with every thing, "suspicious of all, Song Who thought all sweet yet iarring notes outringeth.
wayward, covetous, hard" (saith Tully,) "self-willed, Dye not before thy day, poore man condemned,
superstitious, self-conceited, braggers and admirers of But lift thy low lookes from the humble earth, Hir grace like Iune, when earth and trees bee trimde,
themselves," as Balthazar Castilio hath truly noted of them. Kisse not dispaire and see sweet hope contemned: In best attire of compleat beauties height,
The hag hath no delight, but mone for mirth, Hir loue againe like sommers daies bee dimde,
Song O fye, o fye poore fondling, fye be willing, With little cloudes of doubtfull constant faith,
Times eldest sonne, olde age the heyre of ease, To preserue thy selfe from killing, Hir trust hir doubt, like raine and heat in Skies,
Strengths foe, loues woe, and foster to deuotion, Hope thy keeper glad to free thee, Gently thundring, she lightning to mine eies.
Bids gallant youths in martial prowes please, Bids thee goe and will not see thee,
As for him selfe, hee hath no earthly motion, Hye thee quickly from thy wrong, Sweet sommer spring that breatheth life and growing,
But thinks, sighes, teares, vowes, praiers, and sacrifices So shee endes hir willing song. In weedes as into hearbs and flowers,
As good as showes, maskes, iustes, or tilt deuises. And sees of seruice diuers sorts in sowing,
Intermission Some haply seeming and some being yours,
Then sit thee downe and say thy Nunc demittis, Raine on your hearbs and flowers that truely serue,
With De profundis, Credo and Te Deum, Reading And let your weeds iack dew and duely sterue.
Chant Miserere, for what now so fit is, Ariadne,
As that, or this, Paratum est cor meum, "Is no more mov'd with those sad sighs and tears, Reading
O that thy Saint would take in worth thy heart, Of her sweetheart, than raging sea with prayers: They delight in floods and waters, desert places, to walk alone
Thou canst not please hir with a better part. Thou scorn'st the fairest youth in all our city, in orchards, gardens, private walks, back lanes, averse from
And mak'st him almost mad for love to die:" company, they abhor all companions at last, even their
When others sings Venite exultemus, nearest acquaintances and most familiar friends, for they have
Stand by and turne to Noli emulari, Lute Solo a conceit (I say) every man observes them, will deride, laugh
For quare fremuerunt vse oremus Melancholly Galliard to scorn, or misuse them, confining themselves therefore
Viuat Eliza, for an aue mari, wholly to their private houses or chambers, they will diet
And teach those swains that liues about thy cell, Reading themselves, feed and live alone. It was one of the chiefest
To say Amen when thou dost pray so well. The time's quickly gone that's spent in her company, the miles reasons why the citizens of Abdera suspected Democritus to
short, the way pleasant; all weather is good whilst he goes to be melancholy and mad, because that he forsook the city,
Reading her house, heat or cold; though his teeth chatter in his head, lived in groves and hollow trees, upon a green bank by a
And so they continue, till with some fresh discontent they be he moves not; wet or dry, 'tis all one; wet to the skin, he feels brook side, or confluence of waters all day long, and all night."
molested again, and then they are weary of their lives, weary it not, cares not at least for it, but will easily endure it and which is an ordinary thing with melancholy men.
of all, they will die, and show rather a necessity to live, than a much more, because it is done with alacrity, and for his
desire. Claudius the emperor, as Sueton describes him, had mistress's sweet sake; let the burden be never so heavy, love Song
a spice of this disease, for when he was tormented with the makes it light. O sweet woods the delight of solitarinesse,
O how much doe I loue your solitarinesse. Lute Solo
From fames desire, from loues delight retir'd, Philips Dump
In these sad groues an Hermits life I led,
And those false pleasures which I once admir'd, Reading
With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread, In a word, the world itself is a maze, a labyrinth of errors, a
To birds, to trees, to earth impart I this, desert, a wilderness, a den of thieves, cheaters, &c., full of
For thee lesse secret and as sencelesse is. filthy puddles, horrid rocks, precipitiums, an ocean of
adversity, an heavy yoke, wherein infirmities and calamities
Experience which repentance onely brings, overtake, and follow one another, as the sea waves; and if we
Doth bid mee now my hart from loue estrange, scape Scylla, we fall foul on Charybdis, and so in perpetual
Loue is disdained when it doth looke at Kings, fear, labour, anguish, we run from one plague, one mischief,
And loue loe placed base and apt to change : one burden to another, and you may as soon separate weight
Then power doth take from him his liberty, from lead, heat from fire, moistness from water, brightness
Hir want of worth makes him in cradell die. from the sun, as misery, discontent, care, calamity, danger,
O sweet woods ,&c. from a man.
O how much ,&c.
You men that giue false worship vnto Loue, Sorrow stay, lend true repentant teares,
And seeke that which you neuer shall obtaine, To a woefull wretched wight,
The endlesse worke od Sisiphus you procure, Hence dispair with thy tormenting feares:
Whose end is this to know you striue in vaine, O doe not my poor heart affright,
Hope and desire which now your Idols bee, Pitty, help now or neuer,
You needs must loose and feele dispaire with mee. Mark me not to endlesse paine,
O sweet woods ,&c. Alas I am condempned euer,
O how much ,&c. No hope, no help there doth remain,
But down, down, down, down I fall,
You woods in you the fairest Nimphs haue walked, Down and arise I never shall.
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.

"That wandered in the woods sad all alone,
Forsaking men's society, making great moan."

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