From Thomas Campion’s Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1613).
Every dame affects good fame, whate’er her doings be,
Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed,
Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need.
Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were;
Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year.
But th’ attires of women now wear out both house and land;
That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand.
Once again, Astræa! then from heaven to earth descend,
And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend.
Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame;
For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame.
Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys!
Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys!
From Farmer’s First Set of English Madrigals, 1599.
Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone,
From William Byrd’s Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs, 1588.
Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies,
A poison’d serpent cover’d all with flowers,
Mother of sighs and murderer of repose;
A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poison’d bait.
A fortress foiled which Reason did defend,
A Siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind;
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.