Yet no art or caution can
Grown affections easily change;
Use is such a lord of man
That he brooks worst what is strange:
Better never to be blest
Than to lose all at the best.
From William Byrd’s Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets, 1611.
Crownèd with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis
From Thomas Ravenscroft’s Brief Discourse, 1614.
The Fairies’ Dance.
Dare you haunt our hallow’d green?
From Thomas Campion’s Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1613).
Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent,
Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,
Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive!
Let not your high thoughts debase
A simple truth in me;
Great is Beauty’s grace,
Truth is yet as fair as she.
Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds,
Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs:
Fair you are, and passing fair;
You know it, and ’tis true;
Yet let none despair
But to find as fair as you.